


The Heirloom

by Snapes_Godess



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-26 02:47:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 26,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19759018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snapes_Godess/pseuds/Snapes_Godess
Summary: While Hermione is cleaning out her grandmother's house she discovers a magical legacy that ties her to the Malfoy family in the most unexpected way.  Vintage magic, an unfulfilled contract and an old ring sets Hermione and Lucius on a mission of discovery.





	1. Chapter 1: An Interesting Discovery

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Harry Potter or the Harry Potter universe, any and all recognizable characters and locations belong to JKR and WB. No Money is made from the sharing of this fic.
> 
> ****this story was originally written and posted in 2013 on AFF and Granger Enchanted.

Chapter One: An Interesting Discovery

Coming from a small family didn’t bother Hermione most of the time. In general life was a lot less messy when one didn’t have a slew of relatives to worry about and butt into her business on a routine basis. Especially considering the special circumstances under which she happened to live her life. She was grateful for her lack of extended family; it made protecting her secret identity easier. However, at this moment having little family made life terribly complicated as she stood on the front steps of her grandmother’s house. With no other family to assist her she was left on her own to tend to her grandmother’s things now that the probate period was over and her grandmother’s will had been read and the estate cleared.

As she took a small gold colored key from her pocket and slid it into the lock she was overcome with a wave of sadness. Nana was all that she had left. A tiny woman with a sweet smile and soft golden eyes who had always smelled like rose water and peppermints, her grandmother had weathered so much. The loss of her husband, the death of her daughter to childhood leukemia and the death of her son and his wife—Hermione’s parents—in a car accident on a back country road during a severe summer storm; it was more than anyone should ever have to endure. But, she had endured, and had remained kind and always smiling despite it all. Now she was gone and Hermione, aside from a small handful of very distant cousins several times removed, were all that was left of the Grangers.

She pushed open the door and was assaulted by the familiar scent of her grandmother’s house, now her house; vanilla and wood wax now blended with the stale, dusty odor of a house that had been shut up for months. She reached for the switch on the wall, hoping the utility company had restored the power as she had requested. Thankfully the dim lamps scattered around the room came to life, one sputtering briefly before snuffing out as the filament broke and the bulb blew. 

Hermione looked around her at the old but well-kept furnishings littered with various knickknacks. A fine layer of dust covered everything, including the scarred hardwood floors her grandmother had always kept waxed to a high gleam.

“Do you think there is anything to eat here?”

Hermione glanced over her shoulder as Ron and Harry stepped into the house behind her. She had been so caught up in her thoughts that she had forgotten that she had brought them along.

“Nothing that should be eaten,” Harry said as he looked around. His eyes fell on Hermione and he caught the sadness in her eyes. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, Harry,” she said softly. “I knew this day would come. Nana was ninety four, she earned her rest.”

“Nice lady,” Ron said, nodding his head slightly. “She made the best ginger snaps!”

“Do you ever think of anything other than food?” Harry asked with a laugh. He turned his attention to Hermione and asked, “What’s the plan?”

“Sort, shrink, box and move,” she said succinctly. ‘You boys take care of the furniture down here, put photos and anything that looks important into a box, everything else I will donate to charity.”

“See that, Harry! She leaves all the heavy lifting to us,” Ron said with a grin. “That bossiness is why we didn’t stay married!”

“No, the fact that we make better friends than lovers is why we didn’t stay married,” Hermione chuckled. She felt blessed to have been able to walk away from their five year marriage still good friends.

“If that’s what you want to believe go right ahead,” Ron said laughing as he slid up next to her and wrapped his arm around her. “We burned up the sheets our fair share of times.” He waggled his brows comically and she laughed before shoving him away.  
“Get to work; I don’t want to be here for days! You take care of the bottom and I’ll go see what is in the attic.”

As she walked up the creaky old staircase she was glad to have the boys with her. If they weren’t there to make her laugh she would be overwhelmed by the sadness of missing her grandmother. At the top of the stairs she made her way to an unusually narrow door at the end of the hall. It had frightened her as a child. It wasn’t like the other doors in the house, tall and slender like the staircase on the other side of it she had always felt as if something strange lay on the other side. “There is nothing unusual about that old attic door, Hermione,” Nana had said to her. “But I understand, I’ve always been a bit apprehensive about the attic as well, ever since I was a girl myself.”

The house had been passed down for several generations and had a lot of history. It had survived the war, sheltered the family and was filled to bursting with memories, both happy and sad. As she opened the door and began to ascend the stairs she wondered what sort of memories she would make in the old country house once she moved in and made it her own.  
At the top of the stairs she pulled a fragile string and illuminated the bare bulb dangling from a chord. The attic was filled with old furniture, toys and boxes. With a heavy heart she began a cursory inventory of the attic, pushing things aside and making mental notes of what to keep, what to donate and what might be suitable for auction. She reached into the satchel she had dropped at the top of the stairs and enlarged several boxes from inside. She began the tedious process of dragging things out, looking inside and sorting them before shrinking the items and placing them in the appropriate box.  
Hours passed and slowly the attic space began to clear. The more it cleared the more she began to think that it would be a nice space for a small study with a little work. She looked towards a far corner and raised her wand to drag a large armoire her direction. It scooted heavily across the floor, leaving a trail in the thick dust on the unfinished wood. The piece didn’t look salvageable as a set of rusty hinges gave out and one of the doors gave way, falling to the floor with a noisy crash.

Inside, nestled on the bottom of the armoire sat an old chest. Hermione opened the other door, frowning when those hinges gave out and her arm was jerked downward when the heavy door came off in her hand. She set it aside and stared at the old steamer trunk. 

“It looks like my old school trunk,” she muttered to herself as she reached for the handle and dragged it out onto the floor with a heavy thud. 

It was gray with tarnished silver hardware. She used her wand to blow the dust away and immediately gasped. A large B.B. adorned the lid, along with the initials J.L.G. She flipped the latch and slowly raised the lid. Inside, neatly folded, were the soft gray robes of Beaux Batons Academy. Hermione lifted them in astonishment. A delicate birch wand with an ornately carved handle clattered to the floor. Hermione laid the robes gently aside and picked up the wand, staring at it as if she had never seen one before.  
In stunned silence she turned her attention back to the chest, books, papers and other little personal items filled the bottom. She picked up a journal and opened to the first yellowed page. There, in flowing script was the inscription “The personal diary of Juliana Lenore Granger”. Hermione dropped the diary, gasping, her body overheated from the rush of adrenaline pumping through her.

“Mione?” she didn’t hear Harry call her name or the heavy footsteps of the boys ascending the stairs. It wasn’t until Harry leaned over her shoulder that she realized they were there. “We finished with the stuff downstairs, it’s ready to move until you are ready to sort it….whatchya got there?” He knelt beside her and picked up the wand she had dropped on the floor beside her. 

“Is that a school chest?” Ron asked, closing the lid for a moment. “It’s from Beaux Batons…Fleur has one just like it.”

“Where did you get this? Who’s is it?” Harry asked curiously.

“I found it in that armoire…it…belongs to someone named Juliana Granger.”  
“Who is that?” Ron asked.

“I don’t know…but do you know what this means?” she asked softly. “All this time I thought it was odd that I was the only one…turns out I’m not…but why did no one say anything?”

“What are you talking about?” Ron asked.  
“I am not the first witch in the family.”

\--


	2. Chapter 2: A Mystery to Solve

Chapter Two: A Mystery to Solve

It took nearly three months for Hermione to get the house ready for her to occupy. It was a large house with many rooms, rooms that had been closed up for decades. The property was of a respectable size as well but over the years it had fallen to neglect. Once upon a time, however, it had been a grand home, one that generations of Granger’s had been proud of. Now it belonged to Hermione and she hoped to do it justice.

Floors had been repaired and recovered, walls had been painted, the roof had been replaced and all of the appliances and plumbing had been redone as well. The house had been completely refurbished and was once again a grand home fit for a family. If Hermione actually had a family. She had hoped that one day she and Ron would have had children. But, shortly after their wedding they began to realize that perhaps they liked the idea of being together more than the reality of it. 

With a weary sigh Hermione padded barefoot up the stairs. The lights had been spelled to go off when no one was in the room and the house was well warded from intruders. She was as safe as she could possibly be despite being out in the country with no nearby neighbors. The long hallway was lined with doors that were closed. She had decorated the rooms, restoring and returning much of her grandmother’s furniture to those rooms, but there was no reason to keep the doors open, it was more energy efficient to keep them closed when not in use. The only door that remained open was the one to her bedroom. As she approached the spacious room with the tall fireplace and wide windows she couldn’t help but glance towards the tall narrow attic door at the end of the hall. It still gave her chills.

Her room was warm, a small fire burning in the grate to ward off the chill of a fall evening. She stopped by the small radio sitting on a low table and turned on her favorite station then settled onto the large padded ottoman she had set before the fireplace. Every evening before bed she spent some time gathering up documents pertaining to the family history. The fruit of that labor was stacked on the padded surface in front of her. So, with her house finally in order she sat on the ottoman, her legs crossed and reached for the book on the top of the pile.

She was good with research, she loved gathering information and putting it to use in the books she wrote. She had written various magical texts using her given name, and unbeknownst to everyone aside from her editor, she wrote fiction under a pen-name. Jeanie Grand was the premiere writer of romantic fiction in the wizarding world.

She stared at the scarred leather cover of the Holy Bible, the gold leaf lettering rubbed away in places. Very careful of the old text she opened the cover and turned to the pages where important family records were recorded. Births, deaths and marriages were often written in the designated pages of family bibles. She could see that the records dated back to the early 1800s. Marriages were logged on one page and on another page births were logged on one side and sadly their deaths were also logged on the same page on the other side. She took a moment to record the name of her grandmother, right below the names of her parents.

On the births page, right above her grandmother’s name was a line that had been inked out, another line was treated the same on the deaths. She withdrew her wand from her sleeve and cast a revealing spell on the page and watched as the letters hidden beneath the ink began to glow. Juliana Lenore Granger spelled out in a slanted script, born on December 3rd, 1902. Her name also rose out of the deaths, Died on June 1st, 1920.

“Why is her name marked out?” Hermione muttered the question to herself. She set the bible aside and reached for the stack of albums. Her grandmother had been a meticulous record keeper and all of the family photos were organized in the albums with detailed labels beneath each one. She flipped through book after book and found not a single photo of Juliana.   
She was frustrated by the time she used her wand to accio the Beaux Batons trunk. She set her other materials aside and settled the trunk in front of her. Carefully she removed the robes and wand, setting them beside her before she began to catalogue what was inside. A few magical text books, several small phials of potions, knickknacks and various small personal items began to pile up beside her.  
Finally, she arrived at a box buried on the bottom. It was ivory with small pink roses covering it and a pink satin ribbon holding it closed. She withdrew it and rested it on her knees. She hesitated for a moment, suddenly overwhelmed by an intense sensation of sadness. She wanted to weep and had no idea why.   
She took a few deep breaths and then opened the box. Inside were letters, brittle dried flowers and lying right on top was a photograph. A magical photograph in sepia of a beautiful young woman with long hair and a handsome young man raising her hand to his lips and then gazing into her smiling face. She flipped it over and saw the names written there Juliana and Roman. 

“So you were in love,” Hermione said softly, smiling at the scene replaying again and again in the photograph. She sat the photograph aside and reached for a folded piece of parchment. It looked worn, as if it had been folded and unfolded several times. The parchment was water stained in several places, the edges worn and tearing. The flowing script was clearly that of a woman’s with large looping letters and flourishes, but the content was not what she had expected.

Dearest Family,  
I hope that in time you will forgive me for my actions.  
I never meant to hurt you with what I am, never meant for the world  
I have come to know to touch you in a harmful way. I wish I were stronger  
Than this but I am not. I cannot live in either world without him and feel whole. It has nothing to do with any of you, or anything that you did. This  
Is about me. I love you, please pray for my soul and find it in your hearts to   
Forgive my weakness.  
Juliana

“Oh my,” Hermione gasped as she let the paper fall from her fingers. It made sense now why she was blacked out of the family bible. Juliana had committed suicide. But why? How? Why hadn’t anyone ever mentioned her?

Determined to understand, Hermione picked up the journal that had Juliana’s name scrawled inside and began to skim through it. Initially it was the typical ramblings of a young girl in her last year of school. She was settling in at the Academy, getting re-acquainted with her friends, getting accustomed to her teachers, all of the things she herself would have jotted down in her diary at the beginning of the school year.   
She skimmed the pages, learned that Juliana had a best friend named Kara and missed her younger sister Eleanor—Hermione’s grandmother. Hermione stopped, her heart thudding just a little as the normal girlish writings of a typical teenage witch’s day to day life changed. 

December 13, 1919 - I met a boy today in Diagon Alley. We were shopping for dresses for the school holiday gala when he walked by the window. He stopped and stared at me through the glass, I could see his reflection in the mirror and our eyes met through the silvered surface. I couldn’t breathe! He was so beautiful with his blonde hair and silver eyes. So tall and strong…he was wearing robes from Hogwarts house of Slytherin, I hear rumors about those boys at school but he doesn’t look like a bad boy. His friends dragged him away but I don’t think I will ever forget that smile.

“Well, well, well,” Hermione smiled. Juliana had fallen for a Slytherin. “Typical, those boys are rather charismatic.” 

December 15, 1919- Today we went to Hogsmeade Village. Kara slipped upstairs at the Hogs Head Inn with Jeremiah Davenport. I wish she wouldn’t give in to him so easily! I was sitting at the table alone, as always, when he came in. It was that same boy from Diagon alley! It was as if he knew I was there. The second the door closed behind him he was staring directly at me! He walked away from his friends and joined me. He kissed my hand, smiling at me the entire time! His name is Roman Malfoy and he is a seventh year at Hogwarts. He sat there for nearly two hours talking to me! I have never felt like this before!

“I’ll be damned,” Hermione exclaimed softly. 

December 24, 1919 – I can’t believe it! Roman and his friends crashed the holiday gala! They somehow managed to sneak into the school but they didn’t get far, Professor Maxine chased them out quickly. But not before Roman slipped me a note. For the first time I had to ask Kara to cover for me for a change so I could sneak out to meet Roman by the river. I didn’t change, I was still wearing my party dress and only a light cloak when I left. Not even the cold was enough to keep me from meeting with him! He was there, waiting with that beautiful smile of his, looking like an angel. He said I was beautiful, that he couldn’t stop thinking of me and he kissed me.

Hermione read page after page detailing the clandestine meetings between Juliana and Roman, the trips with friends to Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade Village, and the confession of the warm spring night when Juliana gifted Roman with her virginity on the soft grass by the black lake surrounding Hogwarts. Hermione felt a warmth in the pit of her stomach, the pull of longing and the nostalgia for those first, intense moments of first love.

May 10th, 1920 – Today is the worst day of my life, and the best. I am so nervous! Things did not go well with Roman’s father. He refused to allow us to marry! He said no son of his was going to dirty the family line by marrying a ‘mud-blood’. Such a horrible word! He didn’t even care that his grandchild grows in my belly. He said he would call his physician and take care of our little problem! Roman screamed at him. He was so angry, I have never seen him so angry! He took me back to the academy and told me to meet him by the lake, beneath the tree where he carved our names. He was going to gather some things, some money and we are going to elope, he said he doesn’t care what his father thinks, he loves me.

“Some things never change,” Hermione said, shaking her head. She could remember how much it hurt her when Draco would taunt her at school. It seemed as if the Malfoy family had a long history of intolerance. 

June 1, 1920 – He hasn’t come. I waited for him all night but he never came. I have waited every day since and still, he has not come. My letters go unanswered and I was turned away from the house. What did I do? What changed? Today, I will go to our spot, wearing the ring that he gave me, and I will wait one last time. If he doesn’t come…I will do what I have to. I love him, too much to live without him.

“Poor sweet girl,” Hermione said, reaching up to wipe at the tear rolling down her cheek. How wonderful and terrible to love that deeply. She didn’t think she had ever loved like that. She set the journal aside and lifted the bundle of letters tied with a pink ribbon. They were all from Roman.

Hermione read each letter carefully. Roman had sharp, slanted handwriting but wrote poetically of his love for Juliana. He adored her, missed her and couldn’t wait for the next stolen moment when he could hold her in his arms. It was beautiful and bittersweet at the same time. 

It was three in the morning when Hermione opened the final letter. She startled when a small silver ring with a garnet set in a circle of diamonds fell onto her lap.

Dearest Juliana,  
I will come for you soon and we will go to my father together. It will not be easy to convince him, but when he sees how in love we are and that we are happy I know he will change his mind. I love you. I cannot wait for you to be my bride. Knowing that my child is growing inside you makes me feel like a king.   
Soon, we will marry. Please, wear this ring as a symbol of my promise to you, my beautiful Juliana, that I will love no one but you for all of my days, that I will make you my wife for always.  
With all my heart and soul,  
Your Roman

Hermione lifted the ring, watched it glisten in the firelight and wondered what she should do with what she had discovered.


	3. A Shared History

Chapter Three: Shared History

Hermione shivered as she appeared on a cobblestone driveway. She hated to apparate. She hated Malfoy Manor even more. She had gone there early in the morning and had found that Draco and his wife were living there. She didn’t really have any residual issues with Draco. She had accepted that he was a victim just as everyone else was. He had done what he had to in order to survive. Of course she didn’t for one moment believe he hadn’t enjoyed some of it, but overall he was just a spoiled bully, not the devil incarnate. 

He had actually been rather polite when she had arrived unannounced on his doorstep. Of course he was rather surprised to see her and even more surprised that she was looking for his father. Maturity sat well with Draco. He seemed…different. He no longer had that desperate look in his eyes, that longing for approval that had plagued his youth. He seemed calmer and content, obviously enamored of the little boy playing with soldiers in front of his desk. His wife, on the other hand, appeared to annoy him by simply existing. Hermione had to admit that Astoria Greengrass-Malfoy was a vapid creature. She was easily the most superficial being Hermione had ever met.

Despite the rather interesting changes and family dynamics in the household Hermione wasn’t there to do business with Draco, she needed to see his father. Apparently Lucius Malfoy no longer lived in the family’s ‘seat’ in Wiltshire; he had—according to Draco—retreated to their country house in Dover by the sea. After getting the coordinates Hermione happily left Malfoy Manor and apparated to Dover.

After shaking off the residual bad feelings of being in the manor Hermione looked up at the large, imposing estate at the end of the cobblestone drive.

“Country house my arse,” she muttered, shaking her head as she walked towards the grand house. It was so beautiful with its pinkish toned stones and tall white columns. Surrounding it were tall trees, their leaves a stunning display of orange, gold and red. The wind smelled of the sea and she could hear waves crashing in the distance. The grounds were immaculate, lush green lawns and flower beds overflowing with colorful flowers accented the property to perfection. It was beautiful and serene, a lovely home far different from the imposing manor in Wiltshire.

A portly woman in a cap and apron met her at the door, surprising Hermione since she had assumed to see house elves.

“Might I help you?” The old woman greeted with a soft smile.

“Draco sent me here to see his father,” Hermione replied. “My name is Hermione Granger.”

“Ah, yes, Master Draco sent a message,” she said softly.   
“I am Lettie, the housekeeper. Please, come inside and wait here, I will let Lord Malfoy know that you have arrived.” She waddled away, leaving Hermione standing in the expansive foyer. She couldn’t help but smile at the muted coloring of the décor, whitewashed wood floors and wainscoting, softly colored striped wall paper, light furniture and wide windows in every room. It was filled with light and felt oddly cozy like a cottage rather than a large country estate. It certainly didn’t feel like the type of home Lucius Malfoy would choose for himself.

“I cannot fathom what in this world--or the muggle world—would bring you all the way to my country house, but must confess that I am beyond curious…or perhaps I am merely bored.” Hermione did not need to turn around to know who was speaking to her. His voice was familiar; it had haunted many a nightmare over the years. 

“If it weren’t important I would not be here, I assure you,” she said, turning slowly to face him. She had forgotten how tall he actually was; she had to lift her chin to look up at him. He looked almost the same, his hair was still long and platinum blonde, though now it appeared streaked with silver, the lines around his eyes and mouth were more pronounced but did not detract from the noble appearance of his face. His eyes were—as they always had been—icy pools of silver-blue, though now somehow softer. He had been a villain in her mind for so long that she was stunned to see him so human.

“Well, well, well…look who is all grown up,” he said softly, the corner of his mouth twitching. She wanted to throw back a smart, witty reply but she was a bit dumbfounded at the sight of him. He was dressed in a pair of well-tailored charcoal slacks and a white collared shirt, open at the throat with his sleeves rolled back baring his forearms. His casual and somewhat friendly demeanor was a bit more distracting than she would have thought.

“I have a ring,” she blurted out dumbly. She winced the moment she realized how ignorant she had sounded.

“I have several,” he chuckled. “What makes you think yours is of interest to me?” 

She reached into her back pocket and withdrew the delicate garnet ring. She extended her hand and slowly uncurled her fingers from around it, revealing the little treasure to him. She watched as his eyes narrowed and he reached out to take the tiny piece of jewelry between his fingers and hold it up for inspection.

“Come with me,” he said brusquely, turning on his heel and heading towards the back of the house. She followed him through the doorway and down a long corridor to a room with large double wooden doors. He pushed them open and stepped aside for her to enter, closing them tight behind her. The room was a bit more like what she expected of him, dark paneling on the walls, masculine décor with rich colors and fabrics. Dark blue and ivory accents softened the room. Shelves lined the walls, overflowing with books and every surface seemed to sport miniature ships in bottles.

“Did you do those?” she asked, indicating the ships lining the shelves above the wide, open windows that made up the wall behind his desk.

“Yes,” he said curtly, gesturing towards one of the comfortable chairs in front of his desk. “How did you get this?” he asked, holding the ring between his fingers.

“You recognize it?” she asked.

“This ring has been missing from the family vault for three quarters of a century. There is a necklace and earbobs that complete the set,” he said, sitting in his chair and laying the ring on the leather blotter atop his desk. “Explain how it ended up in your possession.” 

“That’s a rather interesting story, actually,” she said, with a nervous laugh. “It seems I am not the only witch in my family.”

“Oh my, I am positively astounded,” Lucius replied in a bored tone. Hermione frowned and continued.

“As it were, I recently inherited my family estate.”

“I had no idea you were wealthy,” he said, brows raised.

“I’m not exactly poor, but my family was not wealthy, they simply managed to hold on to their property through several generations,” she said. “My grandmother passed recently and I inherited the house and lands as well as everything IN the house. In the attic, locked away in an old armoire I found a Beaux Batons trunk belonging to my grandmother’s older sister.”

“How wonderful for you to have a magical lineage,” he smirked. Hermione had to bite her tongue to keep from snapping at him.

“The aunt in question was unknown to me previously. No one spoke of her, she had been crossed out of the family Bible and there was never any mention of her. Grandmother didn’t even speak of her when it became known that I was a witch.”

“This does not explain how you came to be in possession of one of my family’s heirlooms.”

“I was getting to it,” she stated irritated. “In the trunk I found an old set of robes, a wand, some personal effects…including a box filled with letters,” she said softly. “And that ring.” She reached for her bag and withdrew the small flowered box from inside, placing it on the desk between them. “These are letters and the journal belonging to my Aunt. Her name was Juliana…and she was engaged to Roman Malfoy.”

“Impossible,” he said. “Roman Malfoy was sent to an institution in Romania when he was eighteen. He was a manic depressive and prone to violence. He was lobotomized at age nineteen and died at age twenty-one.” He watched as Hermione gasped and clutched her hand to her chest. 

“My god! Why?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know. My grandfather never spoke of Roman. I know of him only through the brief entries about him in my father’s journals. My understanding is that he embarrassed the family in his last year of school when his ailment got the better of him.”

“He wasn’t sick, Mr. Malfoy,” Hermione said softly. She pushed the box of letters towards him and stood. “He was engaged to my Aunt Juliana, she was pregnant with his child. He wanted to marry her but his father refused to allow it, they planned to elope but he never showed up—now I know why. Juliana hanged herself rather than live without him. It’s all there in those letters and in her journal, read them.”

Lucius stared at the box and then back up at the witch standing in front of him. She was young and pretty, her brandy colored eyes welling with tears. Her pale pink lips trembled slightly as she fought to hold back the emotion threatening to overwhelm her. How could she be so touched by something that happened so long ago?

“Do you have a calling card?” he asked, watching her closely. She reached into her back pocket and withdrew a pale pink linen card and passed it to him. “Thank you, Ms. Granger. I will read these and be in touch.”

~@~


	4. Lies

Chapter Four: Lies

It was late when Lucius Malfoy turned to look out the window. The moon was high and full with a faint orange ring around it. He took a deep breath, rocking back and forth in the large leather desk chair. On the glossy surface of the desk behind him lay scattered letters written in the hand of his great uncle. These were the letters of a young man declaring his undying love to a young witch who had stolen his heart, promising her a future that would never be.

On top of them was the diary of a young woman, its floral cover worn in places. The pages told the story of a whirlwind romance, of a couple tasting the first, sweet fruits of passion and the wrenching pain of shattered dreams. He was oddly moved by the words he read. He wasn’t, in general, a softhearted man. Most people would say that he had ice-water running through his veins and a stone where his heart should be. 

Sometimes he wondered if they were right. He had loved his wife, but he had not pined for her as the couple in the letters. He mourned her passing, but he did not long for her return. He did understand love, he loved his son and his grandson, would be pained deeply were he to lose them. What he did not understand was the idea of being consumed by love. To desire another so fiercely that it pained him to be away from her, to feel so over-come by his feelings that he would give up anything and everything to be with her. 

“What might that feel like?” he muttered softly to himself.

“Sir, it is after midnight…are you retiring soon?” Lucius, looked back over his shoulder to his valet, Arthur, standing in the doorway. Arthur was a tall man, ridiculously slender with a shocking head of snowy hair. He was nearly a hundred and had served the Malfoy family for generations. He was—in many ways—the voice of his conscience. 

“Arthur…you worked for my great-grandfather, didn’t you?” Lucius asked, slowly turning in his chair to face his employee. 

“I did—I was just a lad at the time helping in the stables,” Arthur said with a wistful smile. “Why do you ask, sir?”

“Did you know his son, the youngest one, Roman?” Lucius watched as the expression shifted on Arthur’s face. It was brief, a furrowing of the brow and tightening of the mouth before Arthur schooled his expression back into the stoic, professional face of his station. “I can see that you did…tell me what you know.”

“I don’t know much, in all honesty,” Arthur said as he moved further into the room. “Master Roman was already away at school when I came to work for the Malfoy family. I saw him on the occasional weekend or school holiday when he would come to the stable for his mount, other than that I did not have contact with him.”

“I am not a fool, Arthur, I know that servants gossip,” Lucius said without reproach. “What was being said?”  
Arthur sighed, his normally stiff shoulders sagging as he searched his memory.

“Master Roman was sneaking off to see a young woman. He was always so happy when he came for his horse, smiling and whistling,” Arthur smiled softly. “He was in love.”

“What else?” Lucius prodded.

“Master Orpheus did not approve,” Arthur shook his head. “We heard him shouting, all the way in the stable, as loud and clear as if we had been in the study with him. My son will NOT marry a muggle! He said vile, foul things about the young lady, he threatened to disown him but Master Roman didn’t back down. I love her, he said over and over again. Then he told his father about the child…I swear that the ground shook with your great-grandfather’s fury. Master Roman came to the stable, a satchel packed with his things—he was going to his lady, to marry her he said,” Arthur ran his fingers through his hair in an unusual gesture of agitation. 

“I saddled his horse, was about to help him mount when Master Orpheus came into the stable, he demanded that Master Roman be restrained. The gamekeeper and the horse trainer grabbed him, pinned him to the stable wall, took his wand, and held him there…I could only watch, confused and afraid. He fought, screaming that he would never forgive his father for what he was doing. A doctor—if you can call him that—and two orderlies came…they stupefied the young master and carried him away. From that day on we were told to seal up his room and never again to mention his name. He died a little over a year later…we never knew what happened to the girl and the child.”

“They died,” Lucius said softly, drumming his fingers atop the journal. “When he didn’t show up that night the girl committed suicide.”

“Forgive me, Sir…but how do you know this?” Arthur asked curiously.

“Her great-niece brought me this,” Lucius said, indicating the letters and journal on the desk. “And she returned this,” he said, holding up the ring. 

“So much tragedy,” Arthur said softly.

“Where was Roman’s room?” Lucius asked.

“In the North Wing, the room next to Master Draco’s room,” Arthur said. 

“What happened to his things? Specifically his personal effects,” Lucius asked.

“I believe they were placed in storage, the attic in the hunting box I believe,” Arthur said. 

“Tomorrow I would like for you to arrange to have them brought to me,” Lucius said, rising from his chair.

“Sir?” 

“Everything I have been told of Roman Malfoy has been a lie. Suddenly a little muggle witch waltzes into my home and she seems to know more information about my family history than I,” he said, his voice tinged with frustration. “I find myself curious about my ancestor and what would possess him to go so far for the love of a muggle witch.”

“The love of a good woman is worth any price, Sir,” Arthur said quietly. He was fond of his master. He had served Lucius Malfoy since the master was a teenager. He had never agreed with his politics, but he understood him, his fears and his desires. He also understood the master’s desire for acceptance, for the love and approval of his father, something he was never able to attain. 

“I wouldn’t know,” Lucius said quietly. “I am ready to retire, Arthur, I am sorry that I kept you up so late.”

“It is nothing to worry about, sir,” Arthur said, suddenly realizing how lonely his master’s life had been. “Let’s get you to bed; things will look better come morning.” He said, following his master up the stairs and praying that he was right.


	5. Accidents

Chapter Five: Accidents

Lucius Malfoy stood at the end of a cobblestone walk and wondered if he had the right address. The impressive country-house was not what he had expected to find the young witch living in. It was nowhere near the size of any of his homes, but it was nothing to scoff at either. He closed his eyes and felt the soft, undulating warmth of magic warding the property. He suddenly realized that her house was not hidden and hoped that no one had seen him suddenly appear at the end of her walk. The last thing he wanted was a ministry inquiry, they watched him enough already.  
He glanced around him, realizing that the house was fairly isolated; the nearest home to hers was off in the distance. It was quite lovely, in truth. The sun was setting in the distance, casting a soft glow over the rolling hillside that reminded him of a painting that hung in the study at the manor. He smiled a bit at the crackling static-like sensation of her wards as he climbed the short set of steps to her porch. He raised his cane and rapped on the door three times with the heavy silver head.   
He expected a servant—an elf or a housekeeper—to answer and was surprised when the witch herself flung open the door. A wild mane of dark curls surrounded her, flowing over her shoulders and curling around her breasts. He tried not to stare at the nicely rounded globes being hugged so lovingly by the white, waffle-knit cotton shirt that she wore but found it difficult. He allowed his gaze to drift lower to the dark colored denim trousers that clothed her bottom half and the tiny bare feet tipped with shocking pink painted toenails.

“Oh, it’s you,” Hermione said, stunned to see the tall wizard standing on her doorstep.

“Yes, it is me,” he replied with a tight smile. 

“What do you want?” she asked.

“I’m sorry, I thought you might like to have a conversation about our newly discovered shared history,” he said. “But if you are busy I will take my leave,” he bowed slightly and turned to leave.

“Wait!” she called, stepping out of the doorway. “Come in, please.” 

Lucius made certain to wipe the smirk from his face before turning and crossing the threshold into her house. He was startled to see the large home tastefully decorated with rich earth tones and comfortable furnishings.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting company,” she said, closing the door behind her. “I was about to have some tea, would you like a cup?”

“Thank you, that would be nice,” he said, loosening the light cloak from around his shoulders. He looked around, expecting a servant to appear and take his garment. When no elf or other domestic-being appeared; he draped it over the back of the nearest chair and looked around him. Her home was decorated more for comfort than appearance, but he liked it.   
He went to the large bay window at the back and stared out over the expansive lawn. She had a nice home; it wasn’t what he had expected of a woman like Hermione. Not that he expected her to live in a shack…well, perhaps he did, but he certainly hadn’t expected her to live in a rather stately home with what appeared to be a significant property attached.

“I inherited it.”   
Lucius fought the grin that twitched at the corners of his mouth and turned slowly, his brows arched as he stared at her.   
“From my grandmother.” She was carrying a wooden tray with tea and biscuits. “I was sitting on the back veranda if you would care to join me there,” she said, her head jerking towards the back of the house.

“Yes, thank you,” he said, approaching her slowly and taking the tray. The stunned look on her face irritated him. “I AM capable of being a gentleman,” he said, the statement laced with bitterness. “There are some who might actually say that I am kind.”

“I apologize, Mr. Malfoy, but sometimes old habits die hard,” she said, genuine apology in her eyes. He said nothing, responding to her apology with an abrupt nod of his head. 

“Do you wish to change into something more appropriate?” he asked, looking pointedly at her bare feet. He watched the saucy grin that crossed her face as she tossed her hair back over shoulder and knew the answer before she even spoke.

“No,” she said simply, turning on her heel and leading the way to the veranda.

The curved, stone surface was covered in potted plants, some containing flowers, some herbs, and others clearly were growing ingredients for potions. An outdoor dining table with cushioned chairs sat in the center, a swing in a frame stood to one side and a small seating area was arranged in front of an outdoor fireplace that was already laid with a cozy fire.   
He set the tea on a small side table and took a seat in one of the surprisingly comfortable chairs and watched her serve. She performed the task as gracefully as any pureblood aristocrat, passing him a cup before taking her own and climbing onto a wicker settee, curling her feet beneath her. He glanced at the cushion beside her, noting the book—in Latin—lying next to her. It seemed some things did not change.

“It has been a while, I had not expected to hear from you,” she said.

“I must confess, I was a bit thrown by your visit and the information that you provided,” he said, watching her face to gauge her reactions. “Of course I had to investigate such a claim further.”

“Claim?” Her eyes narrowed and her fingers tightened on the cup in her hand. “It is no claim, Mr. Malfoy, there is proof. It has surpassed claim and is clearly fact.”

“So you say, but we both know that evidence is fabricated easily enough,” he said. He was being a snob, he knew it, but somehow had never been able to filter his behavior. It was, perhaps, genetic. 

“I do NOT lie, Mr. Malfoy,” she said through clenched teeth. “What reason would I possibly have for making up such a thing? Why would I want YOU, of all people, to be involved in my life?”

“I asked myself the same question,” he said, tilting his head to the side. “Clearly you do not need my money, you seem to be doing fine in that area. You do not need, nor desire my connections as you have more than enough of your own—and to be honest yours are probably far more respectable than mine. So I narrowed it down to revenge…or a desperate desire to have my approval.”

“A desperate… Ahhhhhh!” She nearly crushed the teacup in her hand as her ire rose. She set the cup aside and closed her eyes, breathing deeply through her nose and exhaling through her mouth. Lucius watched, fascinated by her response, enjoying the ‘game’ that he so loved. Manipulating people was a true art. If there was a Machiavellian School of conduct, he would have been the Valedictorian. “I can assure you, SIR, that your approval is neither needed nor is it desired.”

“Lucius.” The desire to grin was nearly overwhelming when she visibly jolted, staring at him incredulously.

“What?”

“Lucius, my name is Lucius,” he said, taking great pleasure in her obvious irritation.

“I know you name!” She snapped, her cheeks flushing in anger.

“Then please use it,” he said calmly. “It is a privilege to call ones betters by their first name.”

“One’s betters…” she sputtered, her emotions quickly rising out of her control. “Your uncle certainly didn’t see himself as ‘better’ than my family!”

“Well, the jury is out on whether or not my dear Uncle Roman was sane,” Lucius said. “He did end up in an asylum.”

“You are unbelievable!” She threw her hands up, her insides shaking with the rage she was feeling. “Are you really going to stand here and deny the evidence?”

“I didn’t say I was going to deny anything, I simply said that I had to investigate the validity of the evidence.” He shrugged nonchalantly, further irritating the temperamental witch.

“Alright…” She closed her eyes and took deep breaths, counting to ten slowly. “So you investigated your uncle’s history. What did you find?”

“I am not certain that it is any of your business, but since you returned a family heirloom I suppose you deserve to know what I found.” He was a prick, he was well aware that he was being a jerk, but it had been so long since he had spoken to—well, anyone outside his family—that he couldn’t seem to control his inclination towards arrogance. 

“Thank you for your generosity,” Hermione replied sarcastically.

“Oh, you are quite welcome,” he said. “Now, it turns out that my valet…oh, a valet is a personal servant that …”

“I KNOW what a valet is, Lucius,” she said tightly.

“Oh, yes, well, one never knows what is and is not known by the common folk,” he said with deliberate conceit. “As I was saying, my valet—Arthur—was a young man at the time. He was working in the stables on the estate. He says that Roman was in love and planning to run away with a young muggle witch that he had gotten in the family way.”

“Juliana,” Hermione said softly.

“Perhaps,” he said. “Apparently grandfather was less than thrilled that his son had not only lowered himself to bed a muggle but had been irresponsible enough to sully the family bloodline by impregnating the girl.”

“They were in love,” Hermione responded. “Blood purity doesn’t matter when you are in love.”

“Love? Love is an illusion, the fleeting fancy of the young. Roman was infatuated by a girl, bewitched by the first stirrings of lust and the euphoria of sex.”

“That is…sad.” Hermione was astonished. Lucius had been so passionate about his belief during the war. He had shown such determination to save his family, to rebuild their life once the war ended, even if it meant swallowing his pride and shouldering the blame on his own. How could a man who fought so vehemently for his beliefs not believe in love? “You ducked out of public life when your wife died…surely to grieve too deeply for her meant that you loved her?”

Lucius debated on whether or not he would answer her. It was a personal question, one that he had never been asked before. Did he really want to explain himself to her?

“I respected my wife. I admired her devotion to me and to our son. She managed our home and our social obligations expertly, I found no fault with my wife,” he said. “But I married Narcissa at the behest of our families. I offered money and stability to the Black family and they offered lucrative business ties for my family. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement.” 

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Why? I was not unhappy?” he asked her, curious at the pity he read in her eyes.

“No one should marry without love, it is sad to know that you were bound to someone for so long that you had no love for,” she said. “A life without love is no life at all.”

“Love is a luxury not permitted for the wealthy,” he said. “Marriage is a business contract negotiated for the betterment of the families. Nothing more.”

“I loved my husband,” she declared.

“And what is the status of your marriage now?” he inquired.

“We are divorced, but it does not mean that I did not love him. I still love him, just in a different way than before.”

“It was a waste of both your time and energy. You would have been better off seeking a spouse that could offer you something more than a Weasley…though the purity of his magical blood was quite the prize for you.”

“Well, we will have to agree to disagree on that,” she said. “Our families are connected, Lucius. Like it or not a child existed that shared our blood.”

“What evidence is there to support that she was not attempting to push a child on my ancestor that was not his?” He asked.

“Are you really going to continue to try and deny this?” she asked incredulously. What was wrong with him? Why was he trying to discredit the relationship between Roman and Juliana?

Lucius shifted in his chair, reaching into his pocket to retrieve the letters. With a softly whispered spell the small box enlarged to its original size.  
“I am not denying anything, I am simply saying that perhaps it is not as romantic as you would see it,” he said, handing over the letters.

“And I say perhaps it was far more romantic than YOU see it!” She opened the box and grabbed the bundle of letters, removing the last letter that Juliana had received from Roman. “Look at it! I will love no one but you for all of my days, I will make you my wife for always. Do you think he would have written such a thing to a woman who was blackmailing him into marriage?” She stood and began waving the letter in front his face.

“Women have been manipulating men with tender feelings for centuries….”

“For the love of, Pete!” she shouted, her eyes sparking.

“Who is Pete?” Lucius asked, somewhat confused by her epithet. 

“Lucius, you are not a stupid man, never in the years I have known you have I ever made the mistake of thinking you were stupid—evil, yes—stupid, no,” she said, struggling to keep her voice calm. “Are you seriously trying to deny this or are you simply fucking with me?”

“Nice language,” he said, amused. 

“All my friends are boys,” she snapped. 

“Fine, by all appearances Roman did, in fact, intend to wed the mud--erm, Juliana.” Out of nowhere the letter in her hand illuminated, the writing turned bright blue before a thin stream of light shot out, splitting into two and striking both of them in the center of the chest. It burned for a moment, startling them and stealing their breath.

“What in the bloody hell was that?” Lucius swore, rubbing his chest where he was struck. It no longer hurt, but he had an odd feeling that he wasn’t going to like it…whatever it turned out to be.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

It seemed to take an eternity for the small clerk in the Department for Unknown Magical Activity to get back to Hermione and Lucius. In truth it was a mere forty-eight hours, but having been on the receiving end of an un-identified spell they were quite rightly nervous. As they sat in the cramped office in uncomfortable, worn chairs, they did not speak to each other, their nerves stifling their speech.  
Lucius remained cool and collected, at least he appeared so. He sat straight in his chair, his hair immaculately tied back at his nape, his clothing perfect, tailored and elegant. One finely manicured hand rested on his thigh, the other loosely atop the silver serpent that adorned his walking stick/wand. Hermione, on the other hand, was visibly nervous. Her hair was plaited into a messy braid that draped over her shoulder and she was simply dressed in khaki trousers and a white cotton oxford. She was perched on the edge of her seat, her legs bouncing rapidly with anticipation and fear.  
A tiny old man shuffled in, clutching a file to his chest as he made his way around the desk and fell into his chair. Hermione stopped bouncing her leg for a moment, focusing on the clerk blinking rapidly behind ridiculously thick spectacles. He appeared to have more hair growing from his ears and eyebrows than from his head.

“Mr. Malfoy and Ms. Granger,” he said in a nasally voice, “I am Mr. Erikson.” He laid the file on his rather cluttered desk and opened it up. “Normally it would be a minimum of three months to investigate such a case, but in light of Mr.Malfoy’s persuasiveness….well, I finished up this morning.” Hermione glanced over at Lucius, her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Money can move mountains,” he said unapologetically.

“It appears that this is a simple case of Contract Magic,” Mr. Erikson said, folding his hands atop his desk.

“I’m afraid that I don’t understand,” Lucius said.

“We were fussing at each other, not negotiating a contract,” Hermione added.

“The letter itself was a contract between two magical people. Roman Malfoy made a promise to Juliana Granger that he would wed her. He gave her a betrothal gift to seal that promise. However, as an heir and not the head of the Malfoy family, he needed the approval of the patriarch to enter into the marriage and fulfill the contract as is customary in the Malfoy family,” Mr. Erikson explained.

“That’s archaic,” Hermione said frowning.

“It is part of the Malfoy family customs,” Mr. Erikson shrugged. “From what I gathered the patriarch did not give his approval of the marriage?”

“No, he forbade it,” Lucius said, “He sent Roman to an asylum and the girl committed suicide.”

“I see…” Mr. Erikson tapped his fingers on the desk for a moment. “Well, that is where the complication comes in.”

“Complication?” Hermione had intended the query to sound normal, however the word came out as more of a croak.

“Yes, you see, young Roman and Juliana were unable to close the deal they had made either by marriage or retraction of the promise. Therefore the contract remained open and awaiting fulfillment.”

“What does that mean?” Hermione asked.

“It means that the promise remained open, despite the deaths of the original drafters of the promise. Because it was on paper it was binding.” He looked at Lucius, “Did you acknowledge the contract? Did you at any point acknowledge that there was a betrothal?”

“I did, it is clearly written there in the letter that they were betrothed,” Lucius admitted.

“Well…as the patriarch of the Malfoy family your acknowledgement sealed the contract, it is legally binding,” Mr. Erikson shrugged his shoulders and sat back in the chair.

“I am confused, Juliana and Roman are deceased, the contract cannot be fulfilled.” Lucius said, his brow furrowed.

“A marriage between the Malfoy and Granger families has been arranged and the contract has been acknowledged by the head of the family. A marriage must take place to fulfill the contract,” Erikson said, shaking his head. “Your family, through the ages, has demonstrated a serious lack of trust in business dealings, they created these wards on their magical signatures for protection and I am afraid there was no room left for error. The contract must be fulfilled.”

“Or?” Hermione queried.

“Or you will find a suspension on your magical abilities in thirty days if the terms of the contract are not met.”

“There is no one to fulfill the contract, Mr. Erikson. My son is already wed and my grandson is still in nappies!” Lucius was beginning to lose his calm façade. 

“If I recall correctly, you sir, are available,” Erikson said quietly.

“Me? You want me to marry a member of the Granger family?” Lucius asked incredulously.

“There is no one else…just me,” Hermione said softly.

“You are divorced are you not?” Mr. Erikson asked.

“Yes, but…I d-don’t love him…I don’t want to marry him!” she blurted.

“It doesn’t have to be permanent. You could wed and in six months quietly divorce.”

“What about an annulment?” Lucius asked.

“I’m afraid that will not work…to fulfill the contract the marriage must be legal,” Erikson said, his cheeks flushing.

“What do you mean by legal?” Hermione asked.

“He means that the marriage must be consummated.” Lucius’s face was drawn tight, his teeth grinding.

“What…sex?” she asked stupidly.

“I am afraid so…but it only need be once…just to seal the marriage vows…then you can wait the six months and it all goes away, contract fulfilled and the two of you are off the hook,” Erikson said, smiling brightly as if he had just solved the problem of world peace.

“I don’t…I don’t want to be married,” Hermione said softly. Tears stung her eyes but she would not let them fall, she was stronger than that. She was well aware of the sometimes unusual—and oftentimes unfair—occurrences in the magical world. This was just one more in a long list of injustices in a community mired in traditions and laws that were both Victorian and medieval. She had tried in vain for years to change it but had come to realize that for the most part, people were pretty content with the status quo. She was fighting a battle that was lost before it began.

“You wouldn’t be married,” Erikson said sympathetically. “Think of it more as a business arrangement.”

“I don’t usually have to have sex with people I do business with,” Hermione said.

“It hasn’t been my habit to mix my personal and business lives either,” Lucius added tightly. “Is there no other way to nullify the arrangement?”

“Mr. Malfoy, you know better than I how careful the Malfoy family is about contract magic. This goes back generations before you and is powerful magic, there are no loopholes.” 

“It’s always something,” Lucius muttered, his hand gripping the silver cane ornament so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. “Is there a moment’s peace to be had in this life?”

“I’m sorry to be the bearer of such bad news, Sir,” Erikson said.

Lucius turned to look at the witch sitting quietly beside him, her eyes closed as she shook her head. She was fighting her emotions and he respected her for not falling into dramatics at the news. She was strong and Lucius admired strength. 

“It appears that we have only one course of action,” he said softly. She turned to look at him, her eyes glittering with tears that never fell. “We will muddle through,” he said gently. He was trying to be reassuring; despite the emotional turmoil that he too was experiencing at the sentence they had been handed. Lucius had been born into one of the oldest and wealthiest wizarding families in the world, he had been raised within the sheltered world of magic, he was used to doing what was expected of him, to following the edicts of others. His life had never been his own. From childhood he was raised to take his father’s place as head of the family, as the patriarch, the decision maker, the man responsible for maintaining and growing the family holdings. He did what was necessary for the betterment of the family, his wants were not a factor.

However, Hermione was from a world where familial relationships were different. Her family placed no expectations on her other than that she grow into a person that could function in society in a moral and independent manner. Her life was her own. There was no pressure to maintain appearances, to manage the monies and lands. Children were a choice she made because she wanted to, not something she had to in order to carry on the family name. She was free, or she had been, before the rather unusual nuances of wizarding law began to interfere. 

Lucius’s unexpected kindness and understanding was unsettling for Hermione. She found herself staring at him as if he were a complete stranger.   
“I don’t want to do this,” she said softly.

“Neither do I,” he said. “But, in case you have not figured it out yet, in the wizarding world choice is not something one can assume. Choice is more of a gift…a prize to be won after years of servitude.”

“You’d think I had earned the right to choose,” she muttered. She closed her eyes and sighed. When she opened them again the tears were gone. She stiffened her spine and her eyes met Lucius’s. “Fine, can we please do this as quickly as possible? I would like to get it over with and move on with my life.”

“As would I, Hermione, as would I,” he said, extending his hand. “Shall we?”


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

The moon was riding high in the night sky, its silvery light reflecting off of the smooth surface of the lake. Hermione stood in front of the large bank of windows that made up one wall of Lucius’s bedchamber. She was once more a married woman waiting for her bridegroom to take her to bed. Only this time she did not feel the giddy anticipation of a besotted bride eager for her husband’s touch. This time she was a reluctant bride with an even more reluctant bridegroom hoping that the consummation could be done without too much discomfort for either of them. 

The ceremony itself had taken place in the clerk’s office in the Ministry courthouse. It had been quick and perfunctory, over in five minutes. They followed it up with an awkward dinner and an even more awkward retiring after dessert. Lucius had shown her to his chambers and excused himself so that she might ready herself for bed in peace. She partook in the luxury of his surprisingly modern en suite. The large shower cubicle boasted multiple shower heads, its beautifully tiled interior filling with relaxing steam as the hot water poured over her. 

It was oddly intimate to be using his soap and shampoo. His staff had kindly left her a toothbrush and a comb on the vanity top so that she did not have to try and make do. However, her lack of sleepwear had her rifling through his wardrobe and donning a rather luxurious white Egyptian cotton oxford. It fell to mid-thigh and she had to roll the over long sleeves back several times for comfort, but it provided coverage and made her feel more comfortable than walking around his chamber naked.

She rested her forehead against the window; the cool glass was soothing against her skin. She felt restless and hot, no doubt the stress of it all had her blood pressure up. In a short period of time she was going to have to accept a new man into her bed…or his bed rather…and into her body. Sex was something she did not share without love or an emotion close to it. She wasn’t frigid, she enjoyed sex, but she didn’t do casual sex. She certainly didn’t do casual sex with former criminals.

“If you are thinking of jumping I should inform you that my chambers are on the first level of the house,” Lucius said from behind her. “The most you can hope for is a skinned knee from the two foot distance from veranda to lawn.”

She couldn’t help but crack a smile for his attempt at humor. Slowly she turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. He was standing in the doorway. Apparently he had used another chamber for his bath as his hair was damp. He was wearing a simple gray bathrobe and sleep pants, from the open vee of the robe she could see that he was bare chested. A tall man in a formal suit stepped up behind him, startling Hermione.

“Will there be anything else, sir?” the man said in a very proper tone.

“No, thank you, Arthur, you are dismissed,” Lucius said. Hermione was a bit surprised to detect fondness in his tone. 

“Very well, Sir,” Arthur said, bowing slightly. “Good night, Madame.” Hermione smiled in acknowledgement, somehow touched by the warm welcome she had received from his staff. They had been very respectful, even though they had to be incredibly confused by her presence in their master’s bedchamber. 

Lucius closed the door and heard her gasp. He looked up from turning the lock and saw the wide eyed expression on her face. He recognized fear when he saw it. It wasn’t full on terror, but there was fear there none the less.

“I won’t harm you,” he said quietly. His stomach turned at the realization that she considered him capable of it. He should not have been surprised; he was guilty of many, many sins. 

“I’m nervous,” she said honestly. He was coming towards her, slowly as if she were a mare that was easily spooked. She supposed that she should be grateful that he was at least trying to be kind, but her pulse was racing and the adrenaline rushing through her system was making her jittery.

“This is odd,” he said, coming to a halt in front of her. He was a full head taller than she was so she had to look up at him. He was less than a foot away from her and could smell his soap and shampoo clinging to her skin and hair. It was strangely erotic to smell his scent on a woman and he felt a surprising jolt of interest in his loins. He couldn’t recall how long it had been since he had been with a woman. It had been at least a year, perhaps longer since he had genuinely been interested in the opposite sex. 

“Is it…I mean…are you…do you…” she blushed, her face heating further as she stammered over the question she didn’t want to ask. “Should we call for supplies?”

“Supplies?” Lucius asked, his lips twitching and his brows arched. “What supplies do we require for copulation? Do muggles do it differently?”

“No..I mean..it’s the same…but…um…do you need help?” she asked, her voice squeaking embarrassingly on the last word.

Lucius thought about her question. He reached forward and pushed her hair back over her shoulder. He looked at her face as if seeing her for the first time. She was not beautiful in the way that he generally thought of beauty, not what most purebloods consider beautiful. But, she was pretty. She had soft, creamy skin, lush lips and wide expressive eyes. Her hair was thick and a bit wild, tangling around her ears and over her shoulders. From his vantage point he could see down the front of the shirt--his shirt--that she was wearing. He could see the upper swells of her breasts and surprisingly his palms itched to touch them. He felt the heat begin to stir in his cock, the soft appendage beginning to tighten and stir behind the cotton sleep wear. 

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” he said quietly. His expression was one of curiosity, as if he were trying to figure out the answer to some unspoken question. He reached for the buttons on her borrowed shirt, suddenly unable to think about anything other than seeing her breasts and discerning the color of her nipples. He managed to free two before her hands wrapped around his wrists, effectively stopping him.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she said softly. Lucius met her gaze was stunned by the vulnerability that he saw there.

“You aren’t a virgin, Hermione, you have done this before unless you lived in a sexless marriage,” he said. 

“No…not the sex…the way we are doing this…so casual and cold…I’ve never done this without love, without the touching and the kissing.” Her uncertainty touched him. There was something about her vulnerability in that moment that stirred the protective side of him. That puzzled him. He had tried to rid the world of her not that long ago, had worked tirelessly to rid the world of her kind yet suddenly he felt the need to comfort and protect her. It made no sense. He could only imagine that it was something beyond his control, she was his wife—wanted or not—therefore he would instinctively protect her regardless of if he liked her or not. Or, it could simply be the fact that she had his cock rising, eager to take a dip in her young body.

Whatever it was he was experiencing foreign emotions regarding the young witch trembling before him. 

Young.

It was a word that kept resurfacing in his mind since the Clerk had declared his findings and offered them the solution to their problem. She was young compared to him, young enough to be his child. He didn’t dally with young women, ever. He limited his intimate contact to wealthy widows with grown children who had no desire to trap themselves a wealthy pureblood husband. He had done his duty to the family; he had married and produced an heir. Draco was healthy, intelligent, and capable and had already produced the next generation’s heir.

Hermione had never known a life where she had no choice about who to share her body with. The one thing that a woman should always have control over had been taken away from her. She had to sleep with him, she had to take him into her body or give up what was a part of her, a vital part of her. Lucius had intended to be quick and clinical about the consummation. He intended to lay her down, do the deed and be done with it. But the forlorn expression on her face made him rethink that decision.

“Okay,” he said softly. He grasped her chin gently between this thumb and forefinger, tilting her head back. He brushed his lips against hers, her lips parting on a surprised gasp at the touch. He pulled back and searched her eyes for a moment, searching for a sign that he had crossed a major line. The wariness and trepidation blended with curiosity and interest and he smiled before lowering his lips to hers once more. 

She trembled as he coaxed a response from her, inhaling sharply when his tongue touched the center of her top lip, lightly tapping at it in a request for entry. She tasted sweet, like the tea with honey she had drunk before he arrived. Her hands fisted in the front of his robe, bunching the fabric within her grasp. Conflicting emotions battled inside her. She wanted to run away and at the same time she wanted to press closer, to open her lips wider and taste more of the enigmatic wizard expertly claiming her mouth with his.

He released her lips, his fingertips sliding slowly, lightly along the slender curve of her throat. The sensuous touch caused her skin to break out in gooseflesh, the tickling sensation causing her to moan into his mouth. Large, strong hands parted the material of her shirt and her breasts were encased in the warmth of his touch .

She wanted to recoil, somehow felt that it was what she was supposed to do, but instead she arched into his hands. Her fierce grasp of his lapels softened and her arms locked around his neck as he simply held her breasts in his hands. She was breathing hard, her lips red, wet and puffy from his kiss. Her eyelids were lowered, her gaze focused on his hands cupping her breasts. They felt good, hot and a bit rougher than she imagined, as if hard work was not as foreign to him as she may have thought. 

He squeezed gently, kneading the supple flesh filling his palms with the tactile pleasure of a man that hadn’t had a woman in longer than he cared to acknowledge. Her nipples beaded against his palms and he lightly stroked her with his fingertips, taking the hardened tips in his fingers and manipulating them lightly. She whimpered and swayed towards him, fiery pleasure racing up her spine.

Lucius groaned at the eager response and his hands fell from her breasts to slide along the curve of her waist and back, cupping over the soft rounds of her buttocks. He bent his knees and lifted her up, her legs instinctively wrapping around his hips as her arms looped around his neck and held on tight. Her eyes were wide with shock, glittering with the spark of arousal. 

“There is no reason that this has to be horrible.” His voice was raspy and soft as he carried her carefully to the edge of his bed and sat upon the mattress. Her knees burrowed into the soft bedding and she adjusted herself on his lap.

“It doesn’t?” She asked quietly, her voice thick with a desire that had her baffled. In answer Lucius slid his hands up her back, his fingers curling over her shoulders from behind and bunching the cotton of the shirt in his fists. She gasped without knowing why and then shivered as he slowly began to pull on the material, sliding it back and off. 

She had to release her hold on his neck so that he could remove the garment completely, dropping it to the floor carelessly as his hands returned to the bare skin of her back. He leaned forward, his face buried into the curve of her neck. He inhaled her sent. She was soft and warm, her skin flushed with heat and desire. Her hands caressed the side of his neck, sliding down along the chorded flesh until her fingertips rested on the pulse throbbing at the base of his throat. 

Reluctantly he removed his hands from her satiny skin and quickly shrugged out of his dressing gown. He caught her tight in his embrace, holding her against the front of him.

“Oh!” She exclaimed softly as her breasts were pressed against the hot, hard expanse of his chest. His lips attacked the tender line of her neck as he placed tender, biting little kisses along the side. He nipped at her collar bone, his lips taking small, delicate sips of her skin as he moved lower. Her nails bit into his shoulder, anticipation causing her to shudder in his arms.

She shouldn’t be enjoying this. She shouldn’t be shaking inside with want. She shouldn’t be growing slick and hot between her thighs and she definitely should not be aching for the feel of him inside her. But she was, and the moment his lips closed over her aching nipple she went up in flames. Her back arched, pressing the softness of her breast closer, silently begging for more of the delicious torment of his tongue stroking and his mouth suckling at her sensitive skin.

“Lucius.” She managed to whisper roughly, her fingers spearing through his hair as he continued to lick and suckle at the tight tip. She felt hot, achy and empty as she writhed in his lap. She could feel his erection beneath her, covered by the thin cotton of his sleep-pants and she wanted it, she wanted him. Hermione reached between them, closing her hand over the throbbing bulge between them and moaned. 

Lucius didn’t want to release the sweet berry between his lips, but the witch’s little hand kneading his aching cock was too much distraction. As smoothly as he could manage he turned, bearing her back onto the sheets of his bed. He slid from her embrace and stood at the bedside staring down at her.

Hermione was very aware of her nakedness as his eyes traveled along the length of her body. Her nipples were drawn tight, her chest heaving as she fought the urge to cover herself. The heat in his gaze was mesmerizing, he wanted her, there was no doubt in her mind that what had begun as a duty was now something else. She watched, her mouth watering as he released the ties at his waist and let the sleep pants fall to the floor. His cock sprung up thick and hard from a nest of dark blonde curls, the impressive length curving gently towards his navel. 

He moved to the bed slowly, with a predatory grace that brought a heated rush of moisture between her thighs. He slid one knee between hers and then the other, parting her legs gently until he could lie comfortably between them. He rested his weight on one arm and his knees, keeping it off of her. He touched the softness of her kiss swollen lips with the tips of his fingers, slowly dragging his touch downward, over her throat, between her breasts, along the soft curve of her stomach to the soft thatch of curls covering her mons. She gasped as his fingers slid lower, slipping between the lips of her sex and dipping into the slick fluid gathering there. 

She was so hot, her heat nearly burning his fingers. His cock twitched in eagerness, ready to sink slowly and deeply into that fiery inferno. He stared into her eyes as he stroked her gently, slipping his fingers inside her, testing her readiness and then moving up to circle the tight, throbbing pearl of her clit. Her lips were parted, her breathing rapid as her eyelids fluttered. She pulsed against his fingers, her tummy sinking in as muscles contracted, priming her for orgasm.

She was ready for him and he was more than ready for her. He pulled his fingers from her sex, the digits slick with her honey. He rubbed the slippery fluid over the head of his cock and then wrapped his fingers around the base, steadying his shaft. He rubbed the tip against her, teasing the painfully erect bud of her clit. Her hands went to his waist, her knees drawing up and falling to the sides, opening her wider for his possession. Seconds seemed like hours as he slowly inched his way inside her. She was wet, hot and snug, welcoming him into the smooth channel with a little whimper. 

When he was seated to the hilt he paused, closed his eyes and just enjoyed the pulsing grip of her pussy holding his cock. It felt so good to feel a woman’s body beneath him, to be nestled deep inside a hot, wet quim. He had forgotten how good it felt to be with a woman, a woman who wanted him. 

Lucius began to move, gently at first, taking her measure with slow, easy strokes. He drew back until only the tip remained inside her and then slowly pushed back inside. Over and over he tortured her thus, tortured himself, but it felt so damned good that he couldn’t stop! She began to move with him, her hips lifting and rolling against him, her breathy little moans of pleasure moving over him like a caress. He slid his hand along the side of her body, stroking the curve of her waist, over her hip and along her thigh, sliding his hand to the back of her knee and lifting, pulling one leg up over his hip. 

He sank deeper and she cried out in surprise at the change. It was like fire to tinder inside Lucius, his thrusts became more urgent, a little harder, a little deeper, a little faster. He wasn’t going to last, it had been too long and the witch felt too good. He moved his hand between them, wedging it between his abdomen and hers until his fingertips could stroke the tight nubbin throbbing above his shuttling cock. He stroked, flicked and tweaked her clit, building her up, pushing her higher and higher until finally, with a hoarse, broken wail she went over. 

She shook in his arms, her body shuddering as she sobbed softly in ecstasy. She pulsed around him, her smooth channel undulating along his length as he moved gently, giving her a chance to settle a bit before pursuing his own release. When her shudders subsided she opened her eyes and met his gaze. 

A little smile twitched at his lips before he kissed her softly. He took her lips with a gentleness that surprised her. His kiss soothed her as his body moved inside hers, increasing in pace and intensity as he moved towards his own bliss. She opened for his questing tongue, allowing him entrance to her mouth as his cock had entrance to her body. She returned his kiss, sucking gently on the tip of his tongue. The kiss grew in urgency as his body neared climax. Then, in that final moment he wrenched his lips from hers and buried his face in her shoulder as he thrust hard and deep, trembling as he spilled inside her in hard, sharp spurts that made his stomach ache. 

He lay there, dizzy from the intensity of his orgasm, unable to move even though he knew that his weight had to be crushing her. Her hands stroked his back, her fingertips raking along his spine and raising gooseflesh. He shivered as a chill raced over him and lifted himself up, resting the weight of his torso on his elbows while his softening cock still fought to remain inside her. 

“Tis done,” he said softly, sleepily.

“So it is.”


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Dawn was just beginning to break when Hermione gathered her things and stood next to the bed staring at the man she had just spent the night with. She had slept with him because it was required to fulfill the terms of the contract…the first time. The second time had been because she wanted to. Lucius had proven himself to be not only a considerate and consummate lover, but also capable of great tenderness. He had entered the room as if he were entering a business meeting, ready to make the deal and walk out. Then the moment he realized that she was uncomfortable he changed tactics. He seduced her, carefully, thoughtfully—thoroughly.   
Hermione was still stunned at how her body had sung so prettily for his touch. His soft and gentle touch drew a passionate and eager response from her, and by the time he had found release inside her she was sated and emotionally wrung from the experience. To her surprise he did not get up and leave her immediately after. Instead he soothed her with gentle touches, easing out of her body and carefully before moving away from her to the edge of the bed. He reached into the bedside table and passed her a soft, scented cloth to clean herself with.   
No words were spoken as she tended to her hygiene and then, far too tired to do anything else; she allowed sleep to claim her. She only intended to take a short nap and then she would get up and return to her home. Somewhere around four in the morning she felt a soft, warm hand caress the curve of her waist that slid forward to the softness of her belly. Heated breath followed by warm, soft lips touched the back of her neck as his long fingers moved lower, sliding between the soft folds of her sex to stroke the eager bud that was suddenly aching to be touched.   
She had been certain that he had no idea what he was doing, that he was still half asleep and only knew that a woman lay beside him. But when she rolled to her back to bring him back to reality he was staring at her, his silver eyes molten and trained right on her face. One long, slender finger slid inside her, forcing a cry from between her lips as a hot wash of moisture bathed the invading digit. She couldn’t fight the urge to arch into his touch, whimpering in distress when he withdrew his touch and then nearly shouting with relief as he rolled her on top of him and with a gentle upward thrust, impaled her on his erection.   
Her womb clenched at the memory of riding him in the darkness, his hands kneading her breasts and plucking at her turgid nipples. It had been…intense. The orgasm one of the strongest she had ever known. There was no doubt, as he enfolded her into his arms and settled in for sleep, that Lucius was well aware of who she was and what he was doing. But why? He was only obligated to consummate the marriage and he had already done that.   
Now as she looked at him, lying on his side with the blankets pulled all the way to his chin, his hair in his face as he snored softly, she was filled with confusion. She expected guilt, or shame. But neither emotion came, only the confusion about a night of shared passion with a man that she should hate, even after so many years. Try as she might, she couldn’t bring herself to. He was still an arrogant arse, time hadn’t changed that. But there was a vulnerability to him that she had not expected. She wasn’t prepared for that.   
Lucius shifted in his sleep, snuggling further into his pillow and clutching the blankets tighter. Hermione couldn’t stop the soft smile that lifted the corners of her mouth. She clutched her clothing in her arms and quietly slipped out the door. She didn’t want to use the fireplace in his chamber to leave; she didn’t want to wake him. Didn’t want to have an awkward conversation about what they had done. So, still wearing his shirt and carrying her clothes she ducked into an empty bedroom and quickly slipped through the fireplace, feeling the familiar tug of magic as she spoke the name of her home and was pulled quickly into the system and delivered to her house.   
“Where have you been?”   
Hermione stopped in her tracks, her eyes wide with shock as she exited her fireplace to find herself face to face with Harry and Ron.  
“I…what? How did you get in here?” She asked, frowning as she stared at her friends. She had protective wards, strong ones, in place to guard her home.   
“I used my Auror privileges,” Harry said. He stepped closer and looked her over, “I got worried when I saw this.” Harry held up the Daily Prophet, the society page. Right there in bold print was her name, next to Lucius Malfoy’s under the column of recent marriages.  
“Oh, Bloody hell!” she said, rolling her eyes as she tossed the pile of clothing onto the sofa. “I can explain…”  
“Are you wearing a man’s shirt?” Ron asked, his head tilted to the side. It wasn’t that he was jealous, she had a right to move on, he wasn’t exactly celibate. “Wait…is that? Were you with Malfoy?”  
“It’s a long story,” she sighed.  
“Well, lucky for you we are off today,” Harry said. The look on his face was one she had seen many, many times over the years. He wasn’t about to budge until he knew what was going on. She was going to have to tell them the whole, sordid affair.  
“Fine, Im going to go take a shower. You guys make some coffee and find me something to eat, when I get back I’ll tell you everything,” she said, pushing past them.

She returned an hour later to find them sitting at her breakfast table with sausage buddies and donuts along with coffee from a café. She wasn’t at all surprised; neither of them could cook worth anything. Reluctantly she sat down, fixed herself a plate of food and between bites proceeded to tell them the story of Juliana and Roman and the contract.   
“So in six months you will just file for an annulment?” Harry asked.  
“Not exactly, we have to file for a divorce,” she said, suddenly realizing that she was going to be a divorcee times two. “The marriage is legal.”  
“You mean….” Harry’s nose curled as if he smelled something offensive. Hermione found his behavior insulting.  
“Yes, I spent the night with Lucius,” she said, her eyes narrowed. “It was required to fulfill the terms of the contract.”  
“But…Mione…” Ron said, reaching out to touch her shoulder. She shrugged away from him and glared at her two friends.  
“Stop it, both of you. You are being real jerks right now. Lucius Malfoy has not done a single thing wrong in over a decade.”  
“But he had several decades of wrong doing already under his belt!” Harry said, rather surprised to see Hermione defending him.  
“I expected better of you after all this time,” she said softly. “He is as deserving of forgiveness as anyone else is.”  
“Forgiveness is one thing, but sex is something totally different,” Ron snorted.  
“Fine, then you don’t sleep with him,” she said with a not-so-sweet smile as she pushed her chair back and got to her feet. “I wasn’t planning on it, ever, but I can say with all honesty that I don’t regret it,” she said. “Either time.”   
And with that, she turned and left her dumbfounded friends sitting at the table.


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

Lucius adjusted his cloak and affixed his hat atop his head, smoothing his hair so that it lay neatly along his shoulders. His eyes held a little bit more life than usual and he had a spring in his step that had long been missing. Not only had he slept remarkably well for a change, but he felt a deep seeded satisfaction and an optimism he had not known in years. He didn’t want to credit the little muggleborn witch for that, but he couldn’t deny that the experience they shared had been more than just two people fulfilling contractual obligations. Maybe it was her age, maybe it was the taboo nature of their joining or maybe it had just been too damn long since he had a woman, but it had been deeply satisfying for him to lose himself inside her body. Both times.  
He tucked his cane beneath his arms and grabbed the bouquet of flowers that lay on the table in his foyer. Arthur smiled and opened the front door.  
“Good day, Sir,” he said.  
“Good day, Arthur,” Lucius replied before stepping out into the crisp, fall air. He followed the walkway towards the edge of his property, his eyes skating back and forth over his land, reminded of how much he had always loved his country house. When he reached the gate it took a simple wave of his hand to momentarily dissolve the wards and slip through, immediately disapparating.   
He reappeared on the edge of an expansive, well-manicured lawn on the edge of the small village of Dragon’s Keep. A cobblestone walkway curved up the gentle slope of a hill, atop of which sat a large red brick building bathed in the late morning sun. Lucius made his way up the walk where he was greeted at the large French doors by an elderly woman in a white uniform.   
“Hello, Mr. Malfoy!” she said cheerfully as she closed the door behind him.  
“Hello, Nancy, how are you?” He asked politely.  
“I’m well, thank you, Sir,” she said, smiling warmly. “Go on in, she will be pleased to see you.”  
Lucius nodded and headed down the long corridor, passing a large reception area and moving towards the back of the building. He found his way to suite 401 and quietly entered the rooms. He stopped at a gleaming mahogany dresser and withdrew his wand to dissolve way the flowers beginning to wilt in a crystal vase. Another spell replaced the water before Lucius dropped the fresh bouquet inside. As he entered the large, open suite he immediately found the woman sitting in a rocking chair by the window, a knitted blanket draped over her lap.  
Ariadne Malfoy was nearing the end of her second century. Time had changed her from a beautiful young woman into an old woman but could not erase the noble way that she held herself, spine stiff, chin up—she was a true lady. Her once platinum blonde hair was now silver, pulled into a tight bun at the back of her head. Her silver-blue eyes were sharp, but from time to time they clouded with confusion as her mind began to deteriorate.  
“You are late,” she said, turning her head to look at him.  
“I apologize, Mother,” he said softly as he approached her. “But maybe this will explain why.” He held out the garnet ring, the sunlight through the window caught the facets of the diamonds that encircled the blood red stone, casting little reflections of light onto his dark cloak.  
“Oh, My,” Ariadne softly exclaimed as she reached out for the ring. Her once graceful, elegant hands were twisted and swollen with arthritis, but her skin was as soft as ever as she brushed her fingers over his. “I never thought to see it,” she said.   
“Neither did I,” he said softly. “Turns out it was neither lost nor stolen. It was bestowed upon a young witch by the name of Juliana Granger by Roman Malfoy before he was institutionalized.”  
“Then the rumors were true,” she said quietly, turning the ring over and over in the light.   
“What rumors?”  
“That Roman was in love with a muggle,” she said, looking up at her son. “Of course Augustus denied it until his last days and Abraxus, well, he never spoke of Roman and forbade anyone else from speaking of him as well,” she said. “How did you come to be in possession of this?”  
“Hermione Granger found it in an old trunk from Beaux Batons, Juliana was a relative.” Ariadne extended her hand and gave him back the ring.  
“So you married her in gratitude for returning a family heirloom then?” she asked, gesturing towards the newspaper on the table beside her open to the society pages.  
“So you saw that?” he asked on an exasperated sigh. “We were hoping to keep it silent until it could be resolved.”  
“I was very sad to hear that my only son was married and I had not been invited,” Ariadne said with a pointed look and a teasing smile.  
“I tried to deny the truth of the story about Roman and Juliana, but between the evidence that the little witch dug up, Roman’s journals and Arthur’s memories I had to acknowledge that our families had once been bound to join, when I did I unwittingly legalized the contract between Roman and Juliana and obligated our family to be wed to a Granger. Since Draco is already married and Scorpius is just a baby that leaves me as the only unwed Malfoy male. So we came to an arrangement, we marry, fulfill the contract and then in six months we divorce,” he said it as if it were simple. But it wasn’t so simple, not really.   
“I see…so no more grandchildren t bounce on my knee, then?” she teased him  
“I am afraid not, Mother,” he smiled.   
“Alright, then Luc, come sit with me awhile,” she said softly.  
“Yes, Mother.” Lucius walked to the dresser and retrieved the silver brush lying on a mirrored tray. He returned and slid to the floor at his mother’s feet, his back resting against her knees. Then, as he felt the soft, natural bristles begin to run the length of his hair he closed his eyes, drifting back to his childhood and the long evenings spent at his mother’s feet while she brushed his hair.


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

Ministry events were always a bit ostentatious in Hermione’s opinion. The money spent on frivolous details could be better spent elsewhere to help the wizarding community, but no one cared to listen to her. She had worked among their ranks for many years, finally realizing that she could do more good working on her own than within the organization. She sipped her wine and looked over the rim at the place card in front of her. Madame Hermione Malfoy. That damned announcement in the newspaper had made things far more complicated than they already were. And they were pretty damned complicated from the start.  
The marriage that was supposed to have remained a secret had spread like wildfire through society. People had no qualms about questioning her on her marriage whether they knew her or not. Her first inclination was to tell them all to piss off; however, she opted for the silent treatment instead. In another three months she would be divorced—again—and nosy people would find another person’s privacy to invade.  
“Hello, Mummy.” Hermione closed her eyes and counted silently to ten. There was no doubting the voice laced with humor.   
“Draco,” she said, opening her eyes and facing him with a tight smile. “How are you this evening?”  
“Oh, you know how it goes with these events,” he said with a shrug, “we come, we eat, we pay, we leave and everyone speaks of us as if we are rubbish while they happily spend our galleons.” Hermione wished that she could correct him, but he was absolutely right. His family still fell under the dark veil of suspicion yet the ministry did not hesitate to accept and use their money.  
“Well, there are those that choose to focus on the flaws of others rather than turn their critical gaze upon themselves,” she said quietly. “Is your father here?” Why had she asked that?  
“As a matter of fact, he is,” Draco smirked, “missing him?”  
“Like a sore tooth,” she replied.  
“It’s good to see you, Granger,” he said softly. “I mean that.”  
“You too, Draco.” When he walked away she left her table and moved out of the ballroom and into the corridor for some air. It was there that she found Lucius in the shadowed hall with a drink dangling from his fingertips.  
“Good evening, Wife, how lovely to see you again,” Lucius asked, his voice laced with laughter.  
“Why are you hiding in the shadows?” She asked as she approached him.  
“Ah, well, according to most people we Malfoys are most comfortable here in the shadows,” he said, raising his glass.  
“And you just go along with that? That seems a rather lazy way out,” she said, leaning against the wall next to him.  
“Perhaps, but to be honest I am rather tired of trying to change these people’s impressions of me.” He looked her over, tilting his head to the side as he considered the woman before him. “You look pretty tonight.”  
“Thank you,” she said softly. She was wearing an old gown, one that she had worn a few years earlier to another event. She couldn’t bring herself to constantly buy new gowns for these events so she recycled them from a collection of classically cut gowns in her closet. This one was an empire waist gown with a knot of gathered fabric between her breasts. The navy blue satin was a lovely contrast to ivory skin and it draped her slim figure in a flattering fall.   
“Well, don’t we look like the epitome of marital bliss,” an obnoxious, high voice declared. Lucius closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose. There was no disguising the fact that he was attempting to calm himself.  
“She isn’t going to go away just because you wish it,” Hermione whispered.  
“One can hope,” he muttered before he squared his shoulders and turned to face the interloper to their conversation. “Umbridge, there you are.”  
“What, Lucius? Not happy to see me?” she asked. She looked like a cupcake in her frilly pink concoction of ruffles and bows. What sort of grown woman dressed in such a way?  
“Did we have business that I was unaware of?” he asked, refusing to answer the question. Of course he wasn’t happy to see her! The woman had diverted the negative attention for her actions during the war onto HIM and his family, completely slipping through the cracks like a little puddle of pink, giggly slime.  
“Oh, I just wanted to wish you well on your recent nuptials,” she said. She let her eyes run up and down Hermione, clearly judging her.   
“Thank you,” he said, hoping that was the end of it but somehow knowing that it wasn’t going to be so easy.   
“I confess, Ms. Granger, I am surprised that a witch of such high moral standards would allow herself to become so vulnerable to a man like Lucius,” Umbridge said coolly. Delores Umbridge was a cold, cruel woman that enjoyed torturing and tormenting others.  
“Oh? And exactly what kind of man is Lucius?” Hermione asked. She was irritated and took great offense to the way Lucius was being spoken of.   
“I don’t think I need to rehash the past of your darling husband,” Umbridge said with an arrogant tilt to her lips.   
“Oh, no, I need no rehashing of anyone’s past deeds,” Hermione said, edging forward in a rather intimidating manner. “I need no one to remind me of a weeping, pregnant woman sitting in the center of a court room being interrogated and cruelly taunted, or of ugly words being carved into the flesh of young children.” Umbridge’s face began to redden, her lips drawing tight and her eyes going wide. “MY memory is perfect; unlike many others I am not easily distracted from truth. I have a very clear, very accurate recollection of history.”  
“Hermione,” Lucius said her name softly, his long fingers wrapping around her wrist as he tugged her gently towards him.  
“I think, however, that perhaps I need to remind you of a few things, Delores,” Hermione said, her voice made no secret of her agitation. “Lucius and his family have spent YEARS atoning for their ‘faulty judgment’ during the war. They have donated more galleons to this ministry and this community than ANY other family in our world! And you dare to look down your pudgy little nose at him? WHO ARE YOU?”  
“Hermione!” Lucius’s hold on her wrist tightened and she suddenly found herself jerked from the corridor and into a cloak room. Lucius dragged the seething witch to the back of the room, between the racks of coats and cloaks to where light filtered through a niche with a stained glass window.  
“What are you doing?” she demanded, jerking free of his hold.  
“What are you doing?” He sounded angry, as if she had done something wrong.  
“She was being a bitch! She was INSULTING you, Lucius!”  
“I know exactly what she was doing!”  
“Then why didn’t you say anything? Why do you let them treat you that way?”   
“Because it doesn’t matter! It doesn’t matter what you say, it doesn’t matter what I do, they think that they know me and everything about me and they refuse to accept that maybe they are wrong,” he said. He had lived it for too long to believe that anything would ever make the difference. He was flattered by the little witch’s valiant defense of him, but knew that her efforts were wasted and he didn’t want to see her harm her place in society by further alliance with him.   
“Lucius, you don’t have to take it! Stand up for yourself! You don’t deserve it!” she was pleading with him and it struck him that the witch was genuinely offended on his behalf. She meant what she had said, she believed that he was worthy of respect.   
In an instant Lucius had the witch in his arms, his lips devouring hers as his hands tangled in the long spirals of her hair, and the witch was responding. Hermione’s hands clutched at his shoulders, her body aligning along the front of his as they came together. It was like fiend fire catching dry tinder. One moment they were talking and the next they were devouring each other. Lucius fell back into the niche and pulled Hermione between his legs. His hands clutched her buttocks, pressing and rubbing her against the bulge straining against the front of his trousers. He wanted her. In an instant he went from flaccid to raging erection. His memories of being inside her had haunted him and from the night of their wedding he hadn’t dared hope that he would ever have the opportunity again.  
Yet, there they were, hidden in the back of a closet, tucked into a window niche with Hermione lifting her skirts and climbing onto his lap. Her knees found purchase on the stone ledge on either side of his hips, the split in her skirt falling open and baring her thighs. She reached between them, her deft fingers quickly undoing the fall of his trousers to reach inside and release the tumescent length of his cock. She stroked him, sliding her fist along his length once and then again before she shifted. Holding him tight in her grip she adjusted her body over him, pulling the crotch of her knickers aside as she lined the burgeoning tip of his erection with the opening of her body.   
When he felt the wet heat of her against his tip his fingers dug into her backside and he lifted his hips, pushing deeper inside her. It was then that their lips parted. Her hands came up to lock behind his neck as she leaned back and slowly began to undulate against him. Her sheath clung to him, sliding along his length like a smooth, silky glove. Her swollen lips parted, little pleasured whimpers escaping as she rocked and rubbed against him. With each rolling movement the swollen nub between her folds brushed against his lower stomach, the silky blond hairs below his navel tickled and teased until she began to cry out more intensely, began to move with more urgency. Their eyes were locked, neither willing to look away as they pursued the impending climax of their interlude.   
It was fast, it was furious and it was intense as their bodies slapped together in the silence of the cloak room. Their ragged breaths combined with breathy little moans and grunts as they rode the wave of pleasure that brought them together.  
“Lucius,” she rasped hoarsely, the snug grip of her vagina growing snugger as she tightened around him as her release neared. It was a plea, a warning that she was going to come, she was asking him to take her there, to protect her and to keep her in that moment when she left her body in joy. Lucius clutched her tighter to him, lifting his hips and grinding against her, hoping to hold out long enough for the witch to reach her zenith. It was a relief to feel her body go stiff in his arms, to feel the pulsing ripple of flesh along his penis as her orgasm struck. He probably should have smothered her cry of release but couldn’t bear to deprive himself of the sweet sound. He held her shuddering body tight and pumped up into her several times before finally releasing his creamy tribute into her heated depths.  
“”Oh…boy,” Hermione gasped as she rested her head on his shoulder. “That was…”  
“A surprise?” Lucius offered as he struggled to catch his breath. Hermione lifted her head, her hands still twined about his neck. She looked at him, her cheeks flushed and a soft smile on her lips.  
“You really aren’t so bad,” she said quietly.  
“Ah, that is where you are wrong, My Dear, I am the boogie man himself,” he said.  
“Well…you DID just defile me in a closet,” she teased, “and everyone knows that is where the boogieman likes to hide.” He said nothing as she pushed his hair from his face and tucked it behind his ear. “No, you are no boogieman,” she said just before she placed a quick, soft kiss to his lips. She slid from his lap and pulled her wand from the garter at her thigh to quickly clean herself up.   
“Well…I guess I am not sure what to say,” Lucius said as he righted his clothing.  
“Why does anything have to be said, Lucius? We are two consenting adults that enjoyed one another’s bodies, we are entitled to that,” she said. Who was she trying to convince?  
“I suppose we are,” he said as he adjusted his robes.   
“Besides, we ARE married.” Lucius couldn’t help but return her smile.  
“Yes, yes we are,” he said. Perhaps he liked the little muggle-born witch more than he thought.

Hermione stepped through the cloakroom door and stopped when she saw Umbridge still standing outside. Hermione smiled, straightened her spine and smoothed her hands down the front of her dress. She was well aware that her cheeks were flushed and her hair was tousled, she looked like a woman that had just been well tumbled.   
“Good evening,” she said sweetly, tossing her hair back over her shoulder as she walked proudly back into the ballroom. Moments later Lucius followed her, still smoothing his hair and adjusting his cravat as he stepped into the hall. When he met Delores’s admonishing gaze he cleared his throat, smiled and excused himself, leaving the viper to postulate on what had occurred inside that cloakroom.


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

“What are you going to do?” Ginny asked as she slid a cup of tea towards Hermione.   
“I don’t know,” Hermione said honestly as she stared at the obituary in the prophet. “I didn’t even know that his mother was still alive. I certainly never met her.”  
“She was living in a residential care facility near Dragon’s Keep,” Ginny said. “I am told that Lucius was quite close to her.”  
“I’m afraid that in the few conversations that Lucius and I have had we have never spoken of his family,” Hermione replied, feeling somewhat guilty. “Maybe I should send flowers.”  
“Regardless of the circumstances you are his wife, for another month anyhow,” Ginny said, sipping her tea. “And you have slept with him. Twice.”  
“Thrice, actually, but that’s neither here nor there,” Hermione said as she tossed the paper aside.  
“Draco’s wife said that Lucius is beside himself with grief, he has no friends to comfort him,” Ginny leaned back in her chair, her hand resting on the swollen mound of her fourth child growing inside her.   
“So what are you saying? Are you telling me I should go?” Hermione asked.  
“I can’t tell you what you should do, Hermione, you have to decide that on your own. You are the one who has to live with whatever decision you make,” Ginny said, tapping her fingers against her belly.   
“Ugh, you’ve been married to Harry too long , he sounds like Dumbledore and now you are beginning to as well,” Hermione snorted as she pushed to her feet. “Can you waddle up the stairs and help me choose a dress?”

~@~

The church was large and imposing as Hermione climbed the stone steps. Her sensible heels made a soft clicking sound on the stone floor as she passed through the first set of double doors. A second set was preceded by a podium containing a book and quill. When she approached the charmed feather scrolled her name on the parchment. Hermione Granger-Malfoy. She shrugged and took the small memorial pamphlet that appeared atop the book.  
On the front was the smiling portrait of an elderly woman with lovely silver hair and familiar silver-blue eyes. Beneath the portrait was the name of the woman:  
Ariadne Tatiana Dorovsky Malfoy  
December 3, 1818-January 14, 2013  
Beloved Mother  
Hermione tucked the little card into her purse and stepped through the second set of double doors that led to the sanctuary. Row after row of wooden pews filled the room, all of them empty aside from the first few rows. At the end of the long aisle stood a gleaming white casket adorned with shocking pink roses and surrounded by sprays of brightly colored flowers. As she made her way down the aisle she could see the still figure of the woman lying within, her hands crossed over her chest with an ornately carved birch wand tucked beneath them.   
Hermione stepped up and looked down upon the elderly witch. She could see that Lucius had his mother’s bone structure and from the photograph on the memorial card she could tell that he and Draco had her to thank for their beautiful eyes. She said a little payer and bowed her head in respect for the woman before she turned to face the others in the church.   
There were only a handful of people or two. Most of them appeared to be dressed in medical robes. Hermione assumed that they had been her caretakers. There were a few well-dressed witches and wizards that were likely either family or associates there to pay their last respects. One would think that the mother of such a well-known wizard would have had more people in attendance but given that she had never known of her, Hermione could guess that Ariadne Malfoy chose to maintain a modest life out of the limelight.   
Hermione’s gaze fell to the very front pew where her eyes met the shocked gaze of Draco Malfoy. He was sitting beside his father who had his head bowed so that all she could see was the top of his head. Draco said nothing, just stared at her with an awed expression as he scooted to the side to make room for her. Hermione moved as if on auto pilot, assuming the place that Draco had just cleared for her. Gently she laid her hand on top of Lucius’s where it rested on his thigh, her fingers wrapping around his supportively. He lifted his head and turned it towards her.   
“Why are you here?” he asked softly. A mixture of grief and gratitude shone in his eyes.   
“No matter what the circumstances, I am your wife. How would it look if I didn’t come?” she said. “Besides, you need a friend.”  
“Thank you, Hermione,” he replied. The minister approached the lectern and cleared his throat. Lucius took a deep breath and his fingers tightened around hers. He needed her support so she remained there beside him, holding his hand until the Eulogy was over. When the minister finished Lucius stood and walked to the casket. With tears welling in his eyes he carefully closed the lid. The minister stepped down and the casket lifted, floating in the air behind the praying man as he led the procession down the aisle.   
Lucius looked to Hermione, his face was pinched with sorrow and she couldn’t stop herself from moving to his side. She took his hand and with her on one side and Draco on the other, they followed behind the procession to the churchyard where Ariadne Malfoy was laid to rest in the Malfoy Family Crypt.   
“People are coming to the house,” Draco said quietly. “I’m not sure if father is up to it.” Lucius was standing beside the casket where it sat on a stone pedestal waiting for the enclosure to be lowered over it. His hand rested on top of it, his head bowed and his eyes closed.   
“I never knew about your grandparents,” she said, her heart aching as she watched him.  
“Grandfather died before I was born, Dragon Pox,” Draco explained. “Grandmother moved from the manor into a dowager house for a time until her memories began to fade and she began casting dangerous spells without realizing it, then father took her wand and moved her to a care facility where someone could watch her and keep her safe.”  
“He was close to her, clearly,” she said.  
“Yes, I think it is why father never gave me too much grief over my attachment to my mother,” Draco said softly. “Sometimes I wonder what was more difficult for him during the war years, being bound to the Dark Lord or having to forgo his visits to grandmother so that she was safe.”   
“He seems to regret much of that time, for many reasons,” she said, watching as he laid a shocking pink rose on the casket and stepped back as the enclosure began to lower.  
“Are you coming back to the house?” Draco asked.  
“The manor or his house?”  
“His house, I try not to have large crowds over to the manor, it upsets Scorpius,” he said.  
“Yes, I will be there,” she said, moving away from Draco to join Lucius as his mother was enclosed in her final resting place. She felt an odd tingle race up her spine when he reached for her hand and twined his fingers with hers, giving them a gentle squeeze in gratitude for her kindness.


	12. Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

Hermione stood in the center of the empty parlor and wondered at the nature of people. A short list of people had come to the memorial service to mourn the passing of Ariadne Malfoy, but a large number of people appeared in his home following. Some who had small children could be forgiven, but others who were there just to eat the food and to socialize with the wealthier witches and wizards were deserving of a curse or three. Somehow Hermione found herself playing ‘lady of the house’. The serving staff was looking to her for direction despite the fact that she had been in his home only a few times. It didn’t seem to matter to them that she wasn’t really his wife.  
“The last of the guests have gone, Madame,” Arthur said as he appeared beside her. Hermione sighed in relief.  
“I’m not sure how many are guests and how many were just opportunistic vultures,” she said.  
“There are many within the wealthy ranks that have no shame, Madame. Some genuinely grieve for Master Malfoy’s loss. Some hope that his vulnerable state of grief can be manipulated for their benefit,” Arthur said. He smiled slightly; he liked the young woman and her sense of right and wrong.   
“It is disgusting,” she said.  
“It is the way of things, Madame, always has been and always will be. Human nature has its dark side as well as its light, just as everything does,” he said. “Master Lucius has gone to his study.”  
“Is he alright?” she asked. Her voice was softened with concern.   
“He is quiet,” Arthur said. “Lady Ariadne was very important to Master Lucius. Some might say that she is the reason that he wasn’t completely lost to the darkness.”  
“I assumed his parents were the root of his prejiduce,” Hermione said.  
“Lord Abraxus was not a kind or tolerant man. Nor was Lord Augustus before him. But, Lady Ariadne was a kind woman and she loved her son, devoted herself to him in fact. Master Lucius is not a bad man, Madame. He is intelligent and stubborn and for a time he was blinded by those he trusted, but deep inside he is a good man.”   
“He is very lucky to have a valet that is so loyal to him, Arthur,” Hermione said softly.  
“Thank you, Madame,” he said, “Shall I dispose of this now?” He gestured to the tables lined with food and drink.  
“Yes, I will go find Lucius and say goodnight,” she said, smiling. She turned and headed towards the corridor, but Arthur stopped her.  
“Madame!”  
“Yes, Arthur?” she asked, turning in the doorway.  
“Thank you for coming, I am aware of your arrangement with Master Lucius, I know that you did not have to be here,” he said.  
“You’re welcome.” She stood for another moment and watched as a dozen small house elves appeared and the room that had been disordered from the crowd began to quickly right itself. She found her way through the halls to the back of the house and let memory guide her towards the room that she knew would be lined with windows where Lucius spent most of his days.  
When she stepped into the room she found it warm despite all the windows. The fire in the hearth was warm and inviting and the only source of light other than the moonlight shining through the glass windowpanes. Lucius stood in front of the hearth staring into the fire. Hermione was overwhelmed with sadness for him. In her memory he was a vicious, dangerous bigot that wanted to kill her. But in this moment he was a sad little boy that had lost his mother and her heart ached for him.  
“Lucius,” she called gently. He turned towards her, his eyes glazed with dark circles beneath them. He was wearing only his shirt and trousers, his jacket and tie discarded over a nearby chair. In his hand he held an old silver brush.  
“Yes?” he queried, turning the brush over and over absent mindedly in his hands.  
“Everyone has gone,” she said, moving slowly towards him.   
“Oh…I apologize, I was rude,” he said, glancing at the clock above the mantle. “It’s late.”  
“Arthur is cleaning up and Draco was called home, I just wanted to see how you were before I left,” she said, moving in closer to where he stood.  
“My grandson has a cold, Draco is a fretful first-time father,” he said with the saddest smile she had ever seen. “Thank you, Hermione, for coming today…for staying…for playing hostess to all of those people. I apologize for not helping you, I just…”  
“It’s okay, Lucius.” She laid her hand on his arm and smiled up at him. “It’s really okay.” She glanced down at the silver handled brush clutched in his hand. “What is that?”  
“It’s my mother’s….was,” he said softly. “Did you know that I had three sisters?”  
“No, I didn’t,” Hermione said.  
“Two of them were born sleeping before I came along,” he said. “When I was six my sister, Athena, was born. I had never seen a baby before her.” As he closed his eyes and explored his memories Hermione sank onto the blue and white striped sofa and listened curiously to his tale. “She was so tiny and pink with chubby little dimpled cheeks and dark, dark hair like my father. I would lean over her cradle and talk to her and she would smile and reach out, her fat little fingers wrapping around mine and I adored her. She was six months old when she just didn’t wake up. No reason, she went to sleep and just died. A perfectly healthy, beautiful little baby girl just gone.” He shook his head, still confused by the unfairness of it. “Mother was devastated as you might imagine. Of four children only one had managed to survive. She never let a day go by that she didn’t make sure to tell me how much she loved and cherished me. How important I was to her, how I was the most important thing she had ever done.”  
“She loved you, very much, as a mother should love her son,” Hermione said.  
“My father was hard on me...as his father was on him…as I was on Draco,” he said. “At the end of a long day with harsh tutors and my father’s demands, she would call me to her room. I would sit at her feet, tell her all about my day and she would brush my hair. So many nights I fell asleep like that.” The wistful smile that lifted his lips broke her heart. Hermione reached out and gently took the brush from his hand, then tugged him downward until he curled his legs beneath him and sat at her feet.   
Tears welled in his eyes on the first stroke of the soft bristles through his hair.  
“Continue,” she said softly as she dragged the brush through his long locks.   
“My father saw my love for my mother as a sign of weakness, he wanted me to be a strong heir and to be capable of managing the family fortune without vulnerabilities,” Lucius said, his eyes drifting shut as the soothing strokes relaxed him. “So I pretended to be what he wanted in a son, the face that I put on for the world was one of a Malfoy heir. I was arrogant, confident, cold and calculating, set on increasing and guarding the family legacy at all costs. He died shortly before the first rise of the Dark Lord.”   
Hermione couldn’t help but notice the way he rubbed at his forearm, at the mark she knew was hidden beneath the expensive cotton of his shirt.   
He continued, “He believed that Tom was the answer. That his vision would change the wizarding world for the better. That pure blooded witches and wizards would once again dominate the world that was theirs by right and eradicate the interlopers, outlaw the acting of ‘outbreeding’,” he scoffed. “And I bought in to it, partially driven by the desire for my father’s approval and partially driven by fear. By the time things began to get ugly I had a pregnant wife and a widowed mother that needed my protection. I thought that I was choosing correctly by siding with the strongest side. I was wrong,” he said.  
“How did your mother feel about your activities with the deatheaters?” Hermione asked.  
“I moved mother to the country, to a dowager house inherited through her family,” Lucius answered. “I thought she would be safe there, out of earshot of the social gossip. But I mis-judged my mother’s ability to know everything that I did and everything that was associated with me.” He laughed softly, that laughter that comes from realizing something foolish done in your past. “She always told me that I needed to be careful of people. That more often than not, what I saw was a mask and that I would not like what was underneath. As usual, she was right but by the second rise it was too late. I had a young son, a family and I was afraid. More afraid than at any other time in my life. With good reason, too, because he nearly destroyed everything. Me, my wife, my son…my fortune.”  
“How did your mother come to live in the residential center?” Hermione wanted to change the subject. Even after all these years she still couldn’t bear to speak of Voldemort, it made her uneasy.   
“I began getting messages from the staff at the dowager house,” he said. “Mother had gone to take the air and had gotten lost on the grounds. For brief moments she wouldn’t recognize the lady’s maids that had attended to her for decades. Then she began casting spells without realizing it, or remembering it. Dangerous spells. She burned down a storage shed near the greenhouse, caused a flood with a garden fountain…and then she got angry with a young maid, insisted that the girl was a stranger and stealing from her. The girl’s job was to tend to mother’s clothing, she had worked for my mother for over fifteen years and her family had been in service to the Malfoy family for over a century…mother cast a cruciatus. House elves came from the kitchens and intervened and sent for me. The healers said that she was in the early stages of Alzheimer’s Disease and that not even magic could turn back the clock. I was forced to take her wand and then arranged for her to have the best medical care possible.”  
“You did the right thing, “ Hermione said. “Any child in your position would have to do the same.”  
“I hated taking her wand. It felt wrong to take a witch’s wand. But it was for her own wellbeing. I visited her every day for a few hours,” he said. “She drifted in and out of knowing in the last few years but of late had been doing quite well. She knew about you.”  
“The paper?” she queried.  
“Yes, same as everyone else…blasted paper, nothing but a glorified tabloid,” he muttered. “She found it amusing I think, asked if she was getting any new grandbabies.”  
“I’m not sure that I am mother material,” Hermione replied.  
“I don’t know about that.” Lucius turned his head and tilted it to look up at her. “You are a very kind woman, Hermione. I did not expect you to treat me with such tenderness, especially given my behavior towards you in the past. You surprised me.”  
Hermione reached out and smoothed her hand over his hair, her expression soft. Lucius was not the man that she thought. She hated to acknowledge the fact that she had always judged him on the surface, on the mask that he wore. She had never considered that perhaps, underneath that arrogant, evil image, that there might be something more lurking, driving him to behave as he had. Never in a million years would she have considered that there was a scared little boy lurking inside him, desperate for acceptance and peace.  
“I am very sorry about your Mum, Lucius. It sounds like she was an extraordinary woman who loved you very, very much.” Lucius looked away, as if he were ashamed of the tears that glistened in his eyes. Hermione said nothing; she simply resumed the brushing of his hair.  
“She is at peace now. Her memories are clear and unchallenged,” he said, as if he were trying to convince himself more than Hermione. “It felt good to place her wand back in her hand.”   
“In time it will hurt less.”  
Lucius reached up and wrapped his fingers around her wrist, stilling the gentle strokes of the brush. He didn’t say anything, he just removed the brush and laid it carefully on the floor beside him. Hermione watched him, well aware of the fact that her pulse was picking up beneath his grasping fingers. He surprised her when he pressed his lips to her hand, his silver-blue eyes looking up at her.   
“Thank you, I cannot say it enough.”  
“It was nothing…”  
“It was not nothing,” he said, laying her palm against his cheek. “Will you stay with me tonight? I know you might find it laughable…but I don’t wish to sleep alone.”  
“I’m not sure…”  
“Please,” he whispered, his fingers now sliding up her arm eliciting a shiver. “Don’t go.”  
“Okay…”


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13  
Hermione felt a shiver go up her spine as Lucius’s hand slid up her arm, over her shoulder and around to cup the back of her head. He shifted onto his knees as he tugged her forward, their lips meeting as he leaned over her. He kissed her with such tenderness that she whimpered against his lips. His need for her was palpable, she felt it in every press and retreat of his lips, every stroke of his tongue into her mouth. His hands caressed her. They stroked her throat and collarbone, the softness of her arms, the plush mounds of her breasts beneath her dress.   
Lucius’s touch glided along her waist, over her hips and thighs until his fingers reached the bare skin of her knees. He deftly slipped his fingers beneath the hem and began sliding the material of her dress upwards, bunching the fabric as he went. She gasped, but he filled her mouth with his tongue, deepening the kiss, devouring her, losing himself in the taste of her. As he kissed her, Hermione’s hands twisted into the front of his shirt. She clutched him, her knuckles white with the urgency of her grip. Somewhere inside her head a little voice was whispering that she shouldn’t be doing this, he was grieving, she should go…but the need that flowed from his lips to hers was too much, she couldn’t refuse him.  
Lucius’s long fingers slid beneath the edge of her simple cotton panties and with a swift jerk he was tugging them down her thighs, over her knees and letting them fall to the floor around her ankles.  
“Lucius…” she managed to gasp his name as he released her lips. “We should go to your room…” Lucius didn’t respond, he took her hands and pulled her up so that she was sitting with her back straight instead of reclining on the sofa. His fingers slid to the hidden zipper at her side and within seconds he had it open and was tugging the dress up and off, tossing it across the room.  
“No…here,” he whispered hoarsely. He was staring at her sitting there in nothing but a tiny black bra, her hair still twisted neatly and pinned to the back of her head. He made quick work of the bra, freeing her breasts. He growled low in his throat at the sight of her, his cock pressing hard against the fastening of his trousers. Hermione jumped, startled when Lucius shifted before her. He grasped her legs beneath the knees and jerked her forward so that her bottom rested on the very edge of the sofa and her knees bracketed his hips on either side. “So pretty,” he murmured, his fingers sliding out to ruffle the small thatch of curls on her mound.   
Lucius slid his fingers lower, separating and stroking between the swollen lips of her sex. Her folds were soft, wet and slippery. Her clit was a turgid little bud begging for attention.   
“Spread your legs,” he commanded softly. Hermione opened her thighs. “Wider.” He pushed at her inner thighs gently and she opened them as wide as she comfortably could. She watched him as he looked at her sex, parting the lips and staring at her pink, glistening core. Hermione cried out when he leaned forward, his hair tickling her thighs as he pushed his face between her thighs. He was voracious, his nimble tongue sliding over and into her sensitive flesh. Her fingers twisted in his hair, causing him to clasp her wrists and pin them to the sofa beside her hips.   
“Oh god,” she whimpered, unable to stop herself from moving against his hungry mouth. She arched and twisted her hips, pushing her sex against his marauding tongue in search for more of that delicious torment. “Lucius…I’m…I….so close….” She managed brokenly. “Please!”   
Lucius was drunk on the sweet/tangy flavor of her; the sounds of her pleading for more were like sweet music to his ears. He wanted more of those cries, in fact, he wanted to hear her scream, wanted to feel the throbbing of her pussy against his lips as she reached orgasm. The witch was primed, ready for release, her body straining for him, her thighs trembling and the muscles of her abdomen convulsing. Tiny little whimpers and moans filled the room as she climbed higher and higher until finally it converged into a hoarse squeal as she finally tumbled over the edge into bliss. He stayed with her, continuing to lick and suck on her tender flesh until she took a deep breath and her thighs stopped convulsing around his head.  
He turned his face and kissed the inside of her thigh, discreetly wiping his lips with the back of his hand before rising up to look at her. She was panting, her eyes half closed and glassy, her skin flushed the prettiest pink he had ever seen.   
“Lucius…that was so incredible,” she said hoarsely. Hermione sat up, her fingers going to the buttons on the front of his shirt. She had just come but she felt empty, she needed him inside her, she wanted him. He stood, tugging the tails of his shirt from his trousers so that she could finish with the buttons. He watched her, his hands coming to rest lightly on her shoulders as she fumbled with his belt and then the fastenings of his slacks. His pockets jingled with coins as they fell to the floor, leaving him standing in front of her wearing nothing but an open shirt.   
“Hermione.” He breathed her name as her fingers wrapped around him. Somehow, hearing it cross his lips aroused her further. It empowered her to know that he acknowledged who it was that was making love with him, that he wanted her. She let her head fall back, looking up into his eyes and maintaining eye contact as she parted her lips, leaned forward and sucked the throbbing tip into her mouth.   
“Dear Gods,” he groaned, his eyes fluttering as he gently stroked the top of her head with one hand and the softness of her lips where they were stretched around his cock. “Yesssss….” he hissed as her soft, velvety tongue began to slide against the underside of his crown. Her tight fisted grip began to slide along the shaft, intensifying the pleasure. It felt so good, her mouth was incredible as she sucked and licked at his erection. He was lost in the pleasure, unable to think of anything but the delicious sensation of her suckling him.  
Lucius tensed, aware of that electric sensation of impending release that began in the base of his spine and traveled slowly upwards. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t want to spill inside the witch’s mouth. He wanted to lay her down, spread her legs and drive into her, to expunge every bit of strain and stress that he felt in the action of taking her.   
“Stop,” he commanded, tightening his fingers in her hair and pulling her head back, careful not to hurt her. “I need…” How do you tell someone that you need to fuck them? That you need to pound into them, that you have to take them and you can’t be gentle?  
Hermione saw the distress on his face and she understood. He needed her to accept him, to accept him in the only way he was capable of sharing himself in that moment. She nodded her head, her hand gently stroking over his stomach as she shifted on the sofa. She turned around, her knees sinking into the cushions as she positioned herself over the back of it.  
“Tonight…I’m yours,” she said softly over her shoulder as she crossed her arms on the cushions and rested her head, tilting her hips up in invitation. His eyes glittered as he ran his hands over the soft, lush curves of her backside. The pale flesh glowed in the firelight as he stroked and kneaded it, causing it to flush and heat beneath his touch. With one hand he steadied his erection, with the other he pressed against the small of her back, encouraging her to tilt her hips even further. His knees rested on the edge of the sofa cushions as he pressed forward, rubbing his aching tip against her slippery portal. He was painfully hard and thick, and she was so hot and tight.   
He groaned as the wide mushroomed tip of his cock disappeared inside her, the smooth walls of her vagina closing around him like a warm, wet sleeve. For a moment he just closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling….but need and urgency prickled beneath his flesh. He grasped her hips, his fingers digging into the soft skin and he drove forward, impaling her to the hilt. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t control himself as he began to ride her young body fiercely. In and out, harder, faster…he couldn’t get deep enough, couldn’t get enough of her….he was desperate, driven by pain and despair. He needed the oblivion that he could only find inside the give of her welcoming body.  
She was whimpering, not in pain, but in apparent pleasure as she pushed back into him, hard, encouraging him to take what he needed how he needed it. His gratitude was immeasurable as his hips slapped against her backside again and again. The sofa rocked against the hardwood floors and chances are that his staff could hear everything through the half open door but he didn’t care, all he cared about was the witch crying out and pulsing around him. He became aware of her fingers stroking against the base of his cock…she was rubbing her clit in fast, furious little circular motions, rocking back against him, taking him impossibly deeper. She rose up, her back resting against his chest, one arm reaching up to circle his neck while she continued to stroke herself.   
“More…Lucius, please,” she whimpered. His hands came up to grasp her breasts, his fingers plucking at the throbbing nipples, gently rolling and tugging on them as he pounded into her. “YES!” she screamed, her vagina contracting around him like and angry fist, squeezing and pulsing so violently that it was near painful….near. His hands squeezed her breasts, almost too hard as his body exploded. White light flashed behind his closed eyelids as his orgasm was milked from him by the hungry little contractions of her pussy. Again and again his cock erupted with his milky tribute, filling the witch not only with his seed but with all of the emotion that had threatened to consume him.   
“Are you okay?” he asked breathlessly against her neck. They were both breathing heavily, their sweat slickened bodies sticking together. As his orgasm ebbed his penis softened and began to slip from the greedy clasp of her body. He reluctantly released her, and she turned in his arms, her head resting against his chest.  
“I’m more than okay,” she said quietly.   
“Thank you,” he whispered.  
“Stop thanking me.”   
Lucius reached down and tossed the sofa pillows onto the rug before pulling her down to the floor, drawing her against his side as they lay before the fire. She rested her head on his shoulder, her hand lightly stroking his chest as they stared into the flames. She didn’t love him and he didn’t love her, but what she had given him today was more valuable to him than anything he had ever received. How would he ever be able to show her that?


	14. Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

APRIL

“My boobs hurt,” Ginny said, shifting uncomfortably in her seat as she sat with Hermione on the veranda. “Maddie needs to wake up so she can eat,” she muttered as she stared at the baby sleeping contentedly in her little basket.  
“How are the other kids doing with the new little one?” Hermione asked, reaching out to stroke the downy soft black curls atop the baby’s head.  
“Lily is struggling a bit, she was the baby for so long it is hard for her to share the spotlight, but she will go off to school next year with the boys, hopefully it will make it a little easier on her.”   
Hermione chuckled at the look of gratitude on Ginny’s face as the baby began to stir. She watched as her dear friend picked up her child and adjusted her shirt, freeing her breast and settling the baby in for her meal.   
“How are you?” Ginny asked as her daughter began to feed.  
“I’m okay. My book was approved by the editor, so it’s time for me to begin another project I guess,” Hermione said.  
“Maybe you should take some time off from writing…perhaps find a man…a husband….maybe have one of these yourself,” Ginny said, looking up from the nursing infant.  
“I don’t know…I’ve had 2 husbands already….I don’t know if children are in my future.”  
“I don’t think Lucius counts.”  
“Legally he does. I married him, I had sex with him, I have divorce papers.”  
“But you didn’t love him.”  
“No, but I did care about him.” She said honestly. Ginny looked up, her eyes soft and compassionate as she stared at her friend.  
“Well…you would be a wonderful mother,” Ginny said quietly.   
“Ron and I…we had three miscarriages….”  
“You never told me!” Ginny gasped, unconsciously clutching her baby tighter as tears filled her eyes.   
“They were early, each one within weeks of finding out that I was pregnant. It wasn’t something I wanted to share with anyone,” Hermione said.  
“Oh, Hermione…I’m so sorry.”   
***Ding Dong****  
“Are you expecting someone?” Ginny asked at the sound of the doorbell?  
“No…excuse me for a moment,” Hermione said as she went inside the house to answer the door. She had to catch her breath when she opened her front door and saw Lucius standing there, a bouquet of flowers in his hand.  
“Ah, Hello, Hermione,” he said.   
“What are you doing here?”  
“I came to talk to you,” he replied, holding out the bouquet of flowers. “These are for you?”  
“Come to congratulate me on my divorce?” she asked sarcastically as she accepted his flowers and then stepped aside so that he could enter.   
“Not exactly,” he said, following her through the French doors that led to her veranda. “Ah…Mrs. Potter, how nice to…see you,” Lucius said when he saw Ginny. He quickly averted his eyes when he realized she was feeding her child.  
“Mr. Malfoy,” she said, chuckling softly as she reached for a blanket and tossed it over her shoulder, shielding the nursing child at her breast. “I apologize for being rude, it was just Hermione and I here.”  
“No need, I interrupted your get together, I am the one who should apologize,” he said.   
“So what do you need to talk to me about?” Hermione asked, using her wand to conjure a vase for the flowers.  
“You refused the divorce settlement ordered by the court,” he said, eyeing her curiously.  
“It wasn’t a real marriage,” Hermione said. “Besides, I don’t need your money.”  
“Alright…I am sorry for showing up unannounced, I was hoping that you would be free, there is something I’d like to show you,” he said.  
“Actually, I need to take Maddie home I think,” Ginny said as she rose from her chair. “Harry will be home soon and I should get supper going.”  
“Ginny…” Hermione bit her lip, a little confused and more than a little worried about being left alone with Lucius. Their sexual chemistry was a scary thing and she didn’t trust herself. It had been proven that she couldn’t seem to resist him. Again and Again. She hadn’t seen him since the night of his mother’s funeral. She had spent the night with him, had given him access to her body over and over….finally waking up alone, naked on his study floor, a blanket tucked around her and a breakfast tray on a nearby table with a note that simply read, 

“You are incredible, Thank you. LM”  
She hadn’t touched the breakfast, instead she gathered up her clothing and quickly exited his house through the flue.   
“Talk to Lucius, Hermione,” she said softly, “I’ll come by tomorrow.” Ginny used her wand to collect her thing. She said a quick goodbye to Lucius and left via the flue network with baby Maddie.  
“Well…what is it that you wish to show me?” she asked.  
“Perhaps you should get a wrap….and your shoes,” he answered, looking pointedly at her bare feet.  
“We are going somewhere?” she asked.  
“Yes, you can trust me, Hermione, I mean you no harm.”  
She looked at him for a moment, curious. What could he possibly wish to show her?   
“Alright, give me a moment,” she said before disappearing into her house. He stood on the veranda and looked out over the rolling green hills. The unusually mild spring weather was perfect for being out of doors he thought as she re-joined him wearing her shoes and a light jacket.  
“Alright, if you will but give me your hand,” he said reaching for her. She hesitated a moment, but then slid her hand into his. Lucius had shown her great respect since they had become reacquainted. She could trust him.  
In mere moments they dissolved into mist, moving quickly through space and time and reforming in an open glen populated by the churchyard.  
“Where are we?” she asked, turning slowly to look around.   
“This is where they were headed,” he said, gesturing towards the church.   
“What? Who?” she asked in confusion.  
“Arthur collected the journals of Roman Malfoy from our hunting lodge. It is standard for the men in my family to keep extensive journals so that our legacy may pass to future generations….Roman was no exception,” he said. “I expected his journals to have been destroyed…but it seems that he was keeping them well hidden. Instead of the normal leather-bound ledgers that my family uses, he was keeping some of them in his school notebooks.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small stack of notebooks that quickly expanded to full size. “You may read them if you like,” he said, shrinking them again and passing them to her.  
“Thank you,” she said, pocketing the shrunken books.  
“You are welcome,” he said. “It turns out that he was to meet Juliana and that they were coming here to wed. But my grandfather found out first and Roman was sent away. This is where she took her life.” He turned and gestured towards an old willow tree, the low hanging branches were bent and twisted. Hermione walked towards it and immediately noticed a bare spot on one of the lower branches.  
“Oh my god…that’s where the rope…”  
“Because of the foliage and the obscure area it took a while to find her…she was here for over a week before the minister found her,” he said. “Your family…they did not receive the news well.”  
“No, her name was crossed out of the family bible. All traces of her were erased, or at least they attempted to erase them. My family was very devout…suicide is a great sin, a guaranteed journey to hell in the afterlife.”  
“It took some time to find her, but I located her grave outside of Salisbury. She was buried just outside the churchyard…outside of the fence.”  
“She would not have been able to be placed in consecrated ground,” she said.   
“Come with me,” he said, taking her by the elbow and leading her across the field to the churchyard. They passed through the tall iron gate nestled firmly in the large stone wall that surrounded the church and followed a small pebbled path through rows and rows of old graves. Near the back, nestled in the corner was a small garden. “I hope that you will not be angry with me, but I had Juliana exhumed…and brought here.”   
In the middle of the small garden stood a statue, a woman and a man side by side. His arm was around her back and their hands were clasped against his chest. Their heads resting against each other.

“For never was a story of more woe, Than this of Juliet and her Romeo”

Roman Augustus Malfoy  
January 11, 1901- June 3,1921  
&  
Juliana Lenore Granger  
December 3, 1902- June 1, 1920  
&  
Infant Girl Malfoy  
June 1, 1920  
“A family parted in life, reunited in death.”

“Oh, Lucius,” Hermione gasped, tears welling in her eyes. “Its…”  
“I had Roman moved from the family crypt and placed here…and a spell revealed that they were to have a daughter,” he said. “I thought…you were so kind to me, Hermione, your generosity and your compassion…I was overwhelmed by it. I thought that perhaps you might appreciate this…the reuniting of this family who should have never been separated.”  
“It is…a wonderful, wonderful thing, Lucius,” she said softly as she turned towards him. He reached out and caught the tear rolling down her cheek on his fingertip. “Thank you. Thank you for sharing this with me.”   
“It was my pleasure,” he said. And he meant it.   
“I should go back home,” she said, needing to get away from him before she once more found herself in his arms based on high emotion.   
“I will see you back,” he said.  
“No, I can go on my own.” She smiled and turned, following the path towards the gate. One could not apparate on consecrated ground so she needed to get outside of the churchyard. She was just approaching the gate when she heard him call her name.  
“Hermione!”  
“Yes?” she asked, looking back over her shoulder.   
“Our divorce…it’s final,” he said.  
“I know, I have a copy of the papers,” she said, her brow furrowing in confusion.  
“I was thinking…now that you are single and I am single…perhaps…” he shifted nervously from foot to foot, his hand twisting his walking stick into the ground at his feet. “Would you like to have dinner with me sometime?”   
Hermione’s eyes widened in surprise, then a slow smile spread across her lips.   
“I’d like that,” she said. And she meant it.


End file.
